Coco Undaunted
by Atarah Derekh
Summary: A cursed!Coco AU. The Riveras have always known why Héctor left with his guitar one day and never came home. Now, years later, Coco is determined to find out the truth about her father's disappearance and return his guitar to its rightful place on the family ofrenda. Rating increase due to intensity of climactic chapters.
1. The Lost Músico

**Disclaimer:** Everyone within this story belongs to Disney and Pixar.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Lost Músico

 _Long ago, around the time Mexico was experiencing its revolution, there lived a happy family in a quiet, peaceful village called Santa Cecilia. The family was made up of a husband and wife, their little girl, and the mamá's goofy twin brothers. The papá was a musician, and he would write songs for his family, and they would sing and dance and count their blessings. The papá's singing was so good that he became the most popular musician in town._

 _But one day, a terrible man broke into the family's home. He threatened the family if the papá didn't agree to take his guitar and songs and go away with the man. Terrified for his family's safety, the papá agreed. He promised his family that he would do everything he could to return to them. And then he took his guitar and left._

 _The family never saw him again._

 _But the monster who took him away went on to become famous, playing the papá's songs and claiming them as his own. No one believed the mamá or her hermanos when they insisted that the papá had written those songs. They told the family to keep quiet about it, and to worry about providing for their niña, who had, in their opinion, been abandoned by her papá._

 _The mamá knew in her heart that her músico was never coming home. But she didn't have time to cry over him. She had a daughter to care for. So after banishing all music from her home, she rolled up her sleeves and learned to make shoes. She could've made fireworks or candy or even toys. But she chose shoes. Her brothers learned as well. When the daughter was old enough, her mamá taught her how to make shoes. Then the girl's husband got roped in._

 _The family and the business grew. Music had torn the family apart. But shoes held them together._

* * *

"And that woman is your Abuelita Imelda. She built the family business from nothing, and has carried our family through rain and sun for many years. One day, you will inherit the zapateria from her, and continue to make the family proud."

Victória gave a vigorous nod as her mamá finished the story. Beside her, little Elena had already fallen asleep. Both girls had heard this tale a dozen times, but Victória at least always enjoyed listening to it. At four years old, she considered her family members to be her greatest heroes. Especially her sweet, shy papá, whom she had once witnessed knocking down a mugger twice his size to get a purse back for the neighbor lady; and her abuelita, who had survived a terrible attack on her family and rebuilt them from practically nothing.

"I want to be just like Abuelita someday," Victória exclaimed. "She's so strong and brave, and not scared to say what she likes. And she's really good at scaring mean people away with la chancla."

That made her mamá chuckle. Coco glanced back and forth between her two girls, suspecting that they would both take after their abuelita in one way or another. And she was fine with that. Her mamá was a rock, and Coco couldn't be more grateful for that. She had been only three years old when her family was attacked, and had blocked the trauma from her young memory. Her only understanding of the event came through the story her mamá would tell around the time of Dia de los Muertos every year, or repeat when she had to explain why the family did not allow music in their home. Though, on occasion, whenever Coco would sing her secret song softly at night, alone in her room while the girls were asleep and her husband Júlio had not yet come to bed, she would have flashes of a gentle face with a big nose and eyes so full of love that she could weep. Mamá may not like the painful memories associated with music, but Coco would cling desperately to them if they were the only way to also hang onto the memory of her father's face.

"Do you think our abuelo will ever come home?" Victoria asked.

Coco gave a sigh. "I'm afraid, mija, that if your abuelo could have come home, he would have by now."

"Is he dead?"

Coco stiffened at that. She hated acknowledging that reality. After all, there was no possible way her papá could still be alive, but a part of her kept clinging to the hope that he would miraculously appear in the compound of the hacienda one day and sweep her up in a big hug.

"Si, mija," she said after a moment. "He is gone."

"Then why isn't his picture on our ofrenda?"

It was just like Victória to want to gather all the facts. She was always very thorough and prompt about everything; prim, proper, persistent. But sometimes her questions cut like a knife.

"When the terrible man came and took your abuelo away, he also tore up our family portrait," Coco explained sadly. "He didn't even want your abuelo to be watching over us from the ofrenda."

"Oh," Victória said simply. She pondered this information for a moment, then asked, "What's Abuelo's name?"

"Héctor," Coco answered.

"What was he like?"

That drew a smile from Coco, as she reminisced about her papá, and what little she could recall of her life before he left.

"Well, he was a very good singer, and he played a beautiful white guitar. He and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs. He loved to play games with me. Sometimes we'd just run around in the meadow together, practicing our gritos. Whenever Mamá was in a bad mood, Papá would act very silly to try and make her smile. Most of the time it worked, but sometimes he got la chancla to the head. He would always encourage your tios to try new things. You know how much they love to tinker. And as silly as your abuelo was, he was also kind of shy. Mamá said he was a mess when they first met. He was stumbling all over his words, and he was convinced she wouldn't even give him a second glance."

"No, Mamá, I mean what did he _look_ like?"

Coco was a bit stunned by that. "Wha...why do you ask, mija?"

"Well, Abuelita says that our ancestors come and visit us on Dia de los Muertos, but they can't come if they don't have a picture on the ofrenda. So if Abuelo is going to come visit us, then we need a picture for him. I can draw one. Abuelita says drawings count. But I don't know what Abuelo looks like."

Victória looked perfectly serious, sitting straight, adjusting her glasses slightly as she announced her plan, as if she were discussing a business strategy that she was about to execute. Despite her professional demeanor (that girl was a businesswoman in the making if ever there was one), her words and obvious determination to follow through on them warmed Coco's heart. And Coco knew she could do it, too; Victória was quite the budding artist.

"Okay, well," Coco began, trying to recall her father's face. "I...know he looked...he had a big nose and big ears. And...kind eyes."

"Mamá, I don't know how to draw 'kind' eyes."

Coco gave a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry, mija, but it's so hard for me to remember. It was so long ago." She stooped to scoop up a still-sleeping Elena in her arms. "If you want to know more about what your Abuelo Héctor looked like, you should try asking Abuelita, or maybe your tios."

Victoria raised a finger to her chin in contemplation, then said, "Si, I think I will do that. But I need paper first, so I can start drawing right away."

With that, the girl hopped up and ran off to her room. Coco smiled as she followed behind at her own pace, trying not to wake Elena. It was well past the toddler's bedtime, and should be Victória's as well, but Coco wasn't about to interrupt her firstborn's self-appointed mission. Not just yet, anyway.

* * *

Coco came into the kitchen after putting Elena down, overhearing her mamá talking to Victória as she approached.

"Mija, why do you want to know what your abuelo looks like?"

"Because he needs a picture on our ofrenda, Abuelita," Victória stated with a hint of exasperation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Mamá said the bad man who took Abuelo away also tore up his photo, so I'm going to draw a picture for him instead."

Imelda sat stunned for just a moment. "I...that's a good idea, Vicita. But...it's hard to remember without feeling sad."

"Well, he needs to be on the ofrenda, whether we feel sad or not, so I need to know what he looks like."

Coco gasped a bit at Victória's bluntness. She was never known to be disrespectful to her elders, especially her abuelita. "Victória!" she scolded. "You should be more sensitive! If Abuelita doesn't feel comfortable talking about this..."

"It's alright, mija," Imelda said, holding up a hand. "She's right, her abuelo needs to be on the ofrenda." She turned back to her granddaughter. "Abuelo Héctor was a very tall, skinny man. He was Mestizo; more Indian than Spanish. He had a big, hooked nose, with big ears and big eyebrows to match. And a pointy chin. With a little beard at the end of it. He was shy most of the time, but when he smiled, it was a big, goofy smile that made his whole face light up. And...I remember he had freckles. You couldn't see them unless you got very close to his face, but they were there. His hair used to hang down in his face a lot. It drove me crazy because no amount of brushing it would keep it in its place. People used to say he was very plain looking, and some even said he was too awkward and gangly. But I thought he was muy guapo."

Imelda was starting to get misty-eyed as she reminisced. Victória didn't notice, however, as she was too busy scribbling all this information down.

Just then, Júlio joined Coco. "What's going on?" he asked. "I thought both the girls were in bed."

"Our Vicita has decided she's going to be a forensic artist," Coco explained. "She's currently questioning a witness."

"Is that so?" Júlio said with a chuckle.

"I need quiet, por favor, Papá," Victória scolded. "I have to concentrate, or I'll never get Abuelo Héctor's face just right, and he can't come to see us on Dia de los Muertos." She looked up at her grandmother. "Abuelita, what clothes did Abuelo wear?"

Imelda gave a shaky sigh. Her emotions were starting to get the better of her. She rose from her seat at the table and said, "Sorry, mija, but this is a little difficult for me right now. And it's past your bedtime. Why don't we pick this up in the morning, okay?"

Victória gave a bit of a pout, but nodded. "Si, Abuelita. Good night."

Imelda stooped to let the little girl kiss her on the cheek, then watched as she collected her paper and pencil and left the kitchen.

"Your papá will be in to tuck you into bed shortly, mija," Coco called after her.

"So what brought all that about?" Júlio asked.

"I was just about to ask the same," Imelda said.

"Oh, Victória caught Elena trying to dance and scolded her for it," Coco explained. "When Elena asked why she couldn't dance, Victória told her music and dancing weren't allowed in the house. Naturally, Elena asked why, and Victória asked me to tell the story of how Papá was taken away. She asked me if Papá was dead, and what happened to his photo. Then she declared that she was going to replace it with a drawing."

"That's our hija," Júlio said proudly. "Always ready with a plan to succeed, no matter what life throws at her."

"Just like her abuelita," Coco said.

Imelda gave a small eye roll, but couldn't help basking in the praise.

Suddenly, Coco's twin tios burst into the kitchen, one of them shaking a newspaper.

"Have you seen the paper?"

"It's headline news!"

"Every radio station is talking about it too!"

"It's gone international!"

The other three people in the room internally groaned. The switchback talking typical of twins, they were used to. But Oscar and Felipe had never been terribly adept at cutting right to the point, which annoyed their sister to no end.

"What's gone international?" Imelda asked curtly.

Oscar unfurled the paper, revealing the large photo splashed across it, featuring a familiar and hated face. Above it, bold letters proclaimed the news that the twins shouted aloud, in unison:

"Ernesto de la Cruz is dead!"

Their audience gasped audibly, glancing at one another in shock. For a moment, they couldn't believe it was actually true. But there it was, in the Sunday paper, right on the front page.

The monster who had taken Héctor Rivera from his family was finally, albeit unexpectedly, dead.

* * *

 **AN:** My other multi-chapter Coco story will be on hold while I focus on this one. I will still update my one-shot stories as the inspiration strikes. But this idea came to me and wouldn't leave me alone, so I'd like to develop it. It will follow the movie format for the most part, with three acts and the narrative roughly paralleling that of the canon storyline. How quickly I'll be able to update, I don't know at this time. So bear with me.

The Cursed!Coco AU is one of the more popular ones in the fandom, but most Cocolocos portray Coco as a child around Miguel's age. That often necessitates killing off de la Cruz before he has a chance to become famous to the point that he was in 1942. I wanted to keep de la Cruz's date of death and explore the idea of Coco as a young wife and mother, journeying to the Land of the Dead to seek justice for her father. So this story will take some inspiration from the Secret of Nimh, except without a sick child on death's doorstep. Instead, it'll be an impulsive yet determined mother who invited herself into death's house for dinner and an interrogation.


	2. The Son of Santa Cecilia

Chapter 2: The Son of Santa Cecilia

Coco had never seen Santa Cecilia in such an uproar before.

It took nearly a month to deliver de la Cruz's body back to his hometown, as it had been on a tour of its own around Mexico, and when the hearse finally came rolling in, surrounded by a police escort, it seemed that everyone in that normally sleepy little Oaxaca town was there to greet it, wailing loudly at the loss of their greatest cultural icon.

Everyone, that is, except clan Rivera.

Every business in Santa Cecilia was closed, but the Rivera zapateria was closed for a very different reason from everyone else. Inside the hacienda, the Rivera family was experiencing a mixture of emotions. But sadness was decidedly _not_ one of them.

"Oye, the monster is really dead!" Oscar whooped.

"He'll never threaten harm to our family again!" Felipe added.

Elena sat on her mother's lap, clapping and squealing with delight as her tios danced around the common room. She had no idea what everyone was so happy about, but she was content to be happy right along with them. Coco laughed as Elena joined the tios in their cheering.

Rosita, Júlio's sister, joined the family, carrying a tray with steaming mugs. "Who wants hot cocoa with cinnamon?" she invited. Four Rivera hands reached for the mugs.

Victória tried to take a cup as well, but Júlio grabbed it first and held it away from her.

"Ah, not just yet, Vicita, these mugs are still way too hot. Give them a chance to cool down. Then you can have some."

Victória gave an impatient sigh, but nodded in compliance.

Rosita sat down next to Coco and listened in on the excited chattering over the demise of the family enemy.

"I'm so happy that the threat to our family doesn't exist anymore," Rosita began. "But it still seems a bit...irreverent to me that we're celebrating a man's death."

"That man was the reason we lost Papá," Coco said defensively. "And every time we tried to bring him to justice, he found a way to silence us. He's a fraud, a thief, a kidnapper and a murderer. And he got what was coming to him."

"Si, maybe. But...I don't know that I'd wish being crushed by a giant bell even on my worst enemy."

Coco's expression darkened. "I'm only sorry his death was so quick."

Rosita gaped at her in shock. "Coco! How...how could you say that? That's not like you! You're always the one saying we should give people the benefit of the doubt; that we should hear their side of the story before jumping to conclusions, and we should never wish ill on anyone."

"There is an exception to every rule," Coco said simply. She set her drink aside and passed Elena to Rosita. "Could you watch Elena for a moment? I need to find Mamá."

Rosita accepted her niece and watched, confused, as Coco got up and left the room. She'd never seen her sister-in-law behave or speak in a truly spiteful manner. Coco was the epitome of compassion. Yet clearly there was no love lost over de la Cruz.

* * *

Coco found her mother in the workshop, straightening stacks of leather as the family cat, Pepita, lay on a nearby shelf, watching the family matriarch intently. Imelda had a tendency to busy herself when she was feeling distressed in any way, and today was certainly a distressing day for both her and her daughter. The man who had made Imelda a widow at only 22 years old was being celebrated and mourned loudly in the streets, and no amount of barricading the windows could stop the sounds of de la Cruz's stolen songs from drifting into the hacienda. Chief among them was a bombastic version of the lullaby that had been written just for Coco. It put a bitter taste in Coco's mouth to hear how de la Cruz had butchered the song. It felt to her like he was intentionally disrespecting her father's memory just by singing it. That it was de la Cruz's most popular song only made it all worse.

"How are you doing, Mamá?" Coco asked.

Imelda barely looked up from her work. "I'll manage," she said dully.

"Rosita made hot cocoa. Everyone's in the common room, talking about how great it is that de la Cruz is finally dead."

Imelda didn't respond. So Coco pressed further.

"Of course, now that he's gone and not a threat to us, there's no one to stop us from making the truth known about what he did to Papá."

With a sigh, Imelda paused in her work and turned to face her daughter. "Give it time, mija," she said. "De la Cruz's body is barely cold yet. People will be far too focused on upholding his memory. They won't tolerate any slander against him."

"But Mamá, if not now, then when?"

"Soon, mija, soon. We just have to be patient."

Coco gave a frustrated huff. "Mamá, you've been saying that for years! We finally have an opportunity to strike back at de la Cruz, unopposed! We should take it!"

"That opportunity has not arisen yet," Imelda said firmly.

"Then when will it? They've already depleted the town's coffers on that ridiculous mausoleum they intend to bury him in. He's stone dead, and he's _still_ costing us more than we can bear!"

"These things take time and planning, Coco. When the moment is right, when we have all the pieces we need, we will make our move."

"And what piece are we missing?"

Imelda didn't answer for a moment.

"Mamá?" Coco prodded. When her mother answered, it was slow and deliberate.

"When we know what he did to your papá, where he did it, and how to bring your papá home."

"So that's it? When we somehow miraculously find Papá's body, when the only one who knows where it is is dead, _then_ we can bring de la Cruz to justice?"

"And not just his body," Imelda continued. "I want his guitar back as well. On _our_ ofrenda, where it belongs. If we can just get those two things back, I will be satisfied." She gave a very small smirk. "I may even do something loco, like allow music in the house again."

Pepita bounded down from her perch and rubbed up against Imelda's arm, asking to be pet. Coco shot the cat an annoyed glance, as it seemed Pepita was approving of the "plan."

"So that's it, then," Coco griped. "As long as Papá's whereabouts remain unknown—and they will, now that the only witness is a corpse himself—we won't get justice, and we won't get music."

"As I said, mija, we must have patience," Imelda said as she scratched behind Pepita's ears.

Coco groaned, exasperated. "I need to clear my head," she said, turning on her heel and walking out of the workshop.

Imelda shook her head as Coco left. "That one is far too much like her papá," she told Pepita. The cat gave a gentle mew in agreement.

* * *

Coco wandered out of the hacienda and into the streets. Most of the mourners had long since passed by the hacienda, and the ones who were well familiar with the infamous Rivera music ban had, wisely, lowered their voices so as not to disturb the people inside. More than a few nervous glances had been cast at the doors and windows, waiting for an irate Imelda to appear, swinging a sandal or boot. With the crowds gone, Coco could enjoy a peaceful walk as she contemplated the demise of her father's enemy and what her mother had told her about patience and waiting for the right moment to strike back.

Coco found the whole idea of waiting incredibly frustrating. She had grown up hearing plans of revenge and justice being passed between her mother and tios, and every time they thought they could put a plan into action, another threat arrived from de la Cruz's estate or lawyers, and the family would be forced to back off. To Coco, it felt like giving up, and it was as confusing as it was infuriating. Her mother was not the type to be cowed by anything. So why did she hesitate to avenge the love of her life?

Even more frustrating was the fact that Coco would never get the pleasure of seeing that smug grin wiped off of de la Cruz's face as he was called to account for his crimes. Her family would be vindicated, and everyone, especially their neighbors who claimed to know them, would be sorry they ever doubted the Riveras. The mockery would cease. Papá would be home, buried in their town's small, intimate graveyard. Singing and dancing would return to the Rivera hacienda, and Coco wouldn't have to go to the plaza to enjoy music. Her father's songs would be properly accredited, and she might actually enjoy hearing them played repeatedly in the plaza, as they had been non-stop since the announcement of de la Cruz's death. But now all that seemed an impossible hope, now that de la Cruz was safe in his grave, impervious to the curses the living hurled at him. As impossible as the hope that Coco would ever discover what her father's true fate had been.

Coco's wandering brought her near the graveyard, where the crowd had paused as pallbearers unloaded de la Cruz's ornate casket from the hearse and bore it along a candlelit marigold path to the splendorous new mausoleum that was now the centerpiece of the graveyard. This would be de la Cruz's resting place, and Coco found it ironic that a man who was never quick to mention his humble origins would choose to be buried in a tiny hometown that, prior to his rise to fame, was entirely unknown; barely a dot on a map.

Coco despised the fact that her town was known entirely for producing a murderer who had duped all of Mexico into venerating him. Of all the sons of Santa Cecilia, he had to be the one the world remembered. It should have been her father, not him.

The longer Coco lingered, the angrier she became. She started to head back home when one of the townsfolk recognized her.

"Oye, Coco Rivera!"

Coco rolled her eyes as she recognized the drunken, slurred voice. It was the town lush, a professional heckler by the name of Raul. She tried to ignore him and keep walking, but he'd already drawn attention to her.

"Come to celebrate ol' Ernesto's death, have you?" Raul baited. "Bet your family put some kind of curse on him so's he'd be smashed in by that bell!"

 _If we'd thought of it first, we would have,_ Coco thought.

"Hey, everyone, look!" Raul continued. "It's the music hater's daughter! She's come to tell everyone her crazy conspiracy theories about how Ernesto de la Cruz summoned a music demon to eat her papi!"

Coco was used to the mockery by now, but was certainly not in the mood for it at the moment. Her temper boiled as she willed herself forward, not wanting to lose control and do or say something she'd regret.

Pity Raul, drunk as he was, was still just a bit faster than she. He appeared in front of her, his breath reeking of alcohol.

"Come on, chica, come celebrate ol' Ernesto's trip to hell with us."

Coco tried to dodge around him, but he managed to stay in front of her. Coco caught a glimpse of Pepita in an alleyway, watching the scene with concern. The cat turned and darted into the alley.

"Out of my way, Raul," Coco demanded. "I need to get home. My daughters will be wanting their supper."

By now, Raul had been joined by a handful of others; irritating neighbors who had no love for the Riveras.

"Come to cause trouble, señora?"

"Why can't you and your conspiracy-happy family just leave this great man in peace?"

"Your family has no respect for Santa Cecilia!"

The group of hecklers had Coco surrounded, and fear began to rise in her gut, competing with the anger that was dominating.

"I have no intention of causing trouble," she stated. "I just want to go home."

The group was closing in on her, shouting insults at her and her family. She began to feel genuinely threatened. She reached down for her shoe, but the slightest hesitation told the unruly crowd all they needed to know; she did not wield the chancla with anywhere near the confidence and ferocity of her mother.

"Leave me be!" she pleaded.

Raul leaned into her face. "No. You won't leave de la Cruz alone, so why should we leave you alone?"

Coco swiped her huarache at Raul's head, but he intercepted, grabbing her wrist and holding tight, causing her to yelp.

No sooner had the sound left her mouth than Raul was yanked backward by a rough hand on his shoulder. He let go of Coco's wrist as he was spun around to meet the fist of whoever had grabbed him. Knuckles connected to nose and mouth with an audible _crunch_ , and Raul stumbled back, hand over his bleeding nose, spitting out a few teeth.

Standing before the drunkard, to Coco's eternal relief, was a seething Júlio.

Júlio was a man of very short stature, being inflicted with a mild yet still quite apparent form of dwarfism. He was a couple inches shorter than Coco, and would likely lose still more height once he reached old age. With or without the condition, he would have always been a very gentle, shy man, with a tendency to show his embarrassment by ducking his head into the collar of his shirt and pulling his hat (if he was wearing one) down over his face. That he'd stood his ground when Imelda had first interrogated him regarding his intentions toward her daughter was enough to shock everyone in town. But more surprising than that was the fact that he was a powerhouse, being skilled in martial arts and boxing, and never afraid to defend his family and friends. Despite his stature and general demeanor, he was the only member of the Rivera family that people feared anywhere near as much as they did Imelda.

"Keep your grimy paws off my wife!" Júlio barked, eyes still boring into Raul.

The group backed off, Raul slinking away to nurse his injuries, cursing under his breath. As everyone dispersed, Pepita appeared at Júlio's side, hissing fiercely at the retreating hecklers.

Once they were gone, Júlio turned his worried gaze to Coco. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

"Are you alright, mi amor?"

"Si, I'm fine," Coco replied. "I'm sorry, Júlio, I never meant to concern anyone. I just started wandering and somehow ended up out here."

"It's alright," Júlio soothed. "Let's just get home before anything else happens."

"Yes, let's."

The couple made their way back to the zapateria, Pepita trotting happily alongside them.


	3. The Stolen Guitar

Chapter 3: The Stolen Guitar

Months passed before anyone in the Rivera family brought up Ernesto de la Cruz again. Business in the zapateria continued as normal. For all their unpopularity when it came to the topic of de la Cruz, the Riveras were still the most respected business family in Santa Cecilia, with people coming from all over the state to order their shoes.

For the most part, Santa Cecilia life settled back into a familiar routine. But there were two new additions. One was a statue to de la Cruz erected in Mariachi Plaza, with the musician's catchphrase, "Seize your moment," inscribed across the base. The other was a tourist industry completely unfamiliar to anyone in town. Music fans from all over Mexico swarmed to the tiny town, seeking the birth and resting place of the world famous Ernesto de la Cruz.

All that foot traffic in the plaza was beneficial in some ways to the Rivera family, as Victória was old enough to learn how to shine shoes under the supervision of one of the adults. Every afternoon, she and one of her tios would spend an hour or so in the plaza, allowing Victória to earn a few pesos of her own spending money. She did her work with all the diligence of a granddaughter of Imelda Rivera, and even put her youthful charms to work to attract customers. At one point, Oscar teasingly complained that she was going to put him out of a job completely.

For Coco, however, the statue and the increased traffic in the plaza were just further reminders of how helpless she felt in bringing her father justice. She avoided the plaza whenever possible, and also tried very hard to stay away from Raul and his rowdy friends. She didn't want a repeat of de la Cruz's funeral. She busied herself in the workshop, embroidering leather and weaving huaraches. Whenever she did go out, she couldn't help but feel that Pepita was watching her very closely, even if she couldn't see the silver tabby herself. Pepita had been reluctant to leave her side ever since the incident with Raul, and Coco began to wonder if Pepita had forgotten that she was supposed to be Imelda's constant companion.

It wasn't long before Dia de los Muertos was upon them again. The zapateria remained open for business during the day, but closed early so the family could make their preparations. The ofrenda was cleaned and reorganized, with fresh offerings placed upon it. Victória was still working on her portrait of Abuelo Héctor, and constantly complained that she couldn't get his face just right.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, mija," Coco tried to assure her.

"Yes it does!" Victória insisted. "If it doesn't look just like him, he can't come visit!"

"It looks enough like him to count, I think."

"But how do you know, Mamá? It _has_ to be just right!"

Coco sighed in resignation. Victória was ever the perfectionist, and there was no dissuading her from her mission to draw an exact likeness of her grandfather. She decided to leave the girl be, as her younger daughter was happily scattering marigold petals everywhere they _weren't_ supposed to be.

"Elena, honey, esperas! We have to make a clear path between the ofrenda and the graveyard." Coco scooped some petals out of Elena's basket, sprinkling them along the cobblestones to demonstrate. "See? The petals guide our ancestors back to our home. Like this."

"Okay, Mamá," Elena chirped, following her example.

"Ay-yai-yai!" Júlio's voice came from outside the compound. There was the sound of paper being torn, and the short man stepped into the compound, holding up a poster announcing a grand celebration at de la Cruz's mausoleum for Dia de los Muertos. The poster featured de la Cruz in one of his hammy poses, his signature skull-faced guitar held dramatically in front of him. "Those hooligans are just determined to mock us!" Júlio grumbled. "They're plastering their posters all over the walls of the shop!"

Coco glared at the offending paper. "Is it too much to ask to allow us to have our celebration in peace?"

"Apparently, for some people it is."

"Well, we can use it in the stove tonight," Coco said. "It'll make fine kindling."

Júlio chuckled and tossed the poster into a bin for the very purpose Coco suggested.

Coco gathered an armful of marigolds and made her way to the ofrenda room. This was the last of the bunches needed to finish the display for the night, and there was still more prep work to be done. Upon entering the ofrenda room, Coco spotted her mother adjusting family photos. Beside her was a box containing several pictures, including portraits of living family members. Because the ofrenda room faced southwest, it wasn't wise to leave the photos in the same place year round. So each year, Imelda would shuffle photos and store away some of the older portraits that were more prone to sun bleaching. They each got their special place on the ofrenda every year on Dia de los Muertos, and Coco always enjoyed going through the ever-growing stack of family photos that shared a box with the portraits of their deceased loved ones.

"Hola, Mamá," Coco said, gently laying her bunch of marigolds on the ofrenda and moving to look over some of the photos in the box.

"How are preparations going?" Imelda asked, not looking up from her work.

"Júlio is taking care of some...paper graffiti that was left outside the hacienda. Elena is scattering cempazúchitl petals, and Victória is trying desperately to finish her portrait of Papá before sunset."

Imelda chuckled. "I sometimes regret passing along my perfectionism to that child."

"She'll learn in time not to be such a critic of her own art."

Imelda finished setting up her photos and turned to notice Coco looking fondly over various family photos. Cameras were certainly cheaper in recent years, though film was another story, what with the war going on, and any resources saved from the Depression that affected the world over going to stop evil people in Europe and the western Pacific. Yet the Riveras had found ways to capture some of their most precious moments. There would be no shortage of photos to choose from when each of them eventually passed.

Coco held up a picture of a two-year-old Victória holding a newborn Elena on her lap. The expression on the new big sister's face spoke of a grave understanding of some sacred duty to not drop the tiny baby.

"Aren't they just precious in this one, Mamá?"

"Si, muy preciosas," Imelda agreed. She picked up and studied one of the few impromptu pictures in the collection, this one featuring Oscar and Felipe trying very hard to catch a blur that was scrambling up and down Felipe's body. That tiny blur was Pepita as a kitten, who was featured prominently in the next picture in the collection, being held in Oscar's (or was it Felipe's?) now-battle-scarred hand.

"Remember when your tios found Pepita?" Imelda asked, smiling fondly.

Coco laughed. "I remember she only ever calmed down for you. For the rest of us, she was so skittish, and she had Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe terrified of her!"

The memories flooded the ofrenda room as the two women sat on the floor and sorted through the photos. There were a few of Coco and Júlio's wedding, as well as portraits of Victória and Elena's respective baptisms. After nearly an hour, Imelda decided they'd spent enough time walking down memory lane.

"We need to finish setting up for the holiday," she said, standing and dusting off her apron. "The tables still need to be set up in the courtyard, and I have some more pan de muerte in the oven."

Coco wasn't quite finished with her nostalgia trip. "I'll join you in a moment, Mamá," she promised.

"Don't spend all night in here, mija," Imelda said with a chuckle.

"Don't worry, I won't neglect my duties for too much longer."

With an amused shake of her head, Imelda left the room.

Coco only lingered for a few more minutes, gazing lovingly over the collection of photos. Pepita eventually joined her, mewing curiously and pushing her head against Coco's hand, asking to be pet. Coco absentmindedly complied.

Eventually, she stood up and stretched. "Well, Pepita, I'd better get back to work. Starting with putting all these photos away." She knelt and began placing photos that she'd removed back into the box. But before she had gotten three photos into her task, she noticed something. Beneath the mostly loose-leaf pictures was a framed photo. Coco carefully pulled it out to examine it—and was shocked at what she saw.

It was her family portrait from when she was a small child.

It had been years since she'd seen the photo, as it had been kept put away, separate from the other photos until now. The top right corner was torn out, a reminder of the attack that had happened on the family years before. But most of the man whose face had been ripped away was still visible, wearing a too-big charro jacket, and standing next to a younger Imelda and baby Coco. But what really caught Coco's eye was the guitar. It was held away from the family, but its design still stood out in the sepia-toned picture. It was white, with skull motifs. Coco remembered her papá having a white guitar, but had forgotten all about the decorations on it. Now that she stared at it, a realization hit her.

"This is the same guitar Ernesto de la Cruz played," she whispered to Pepita.

Wanting to be absolutely certain, Coco dashed out of the ofrenda room to the bin that held the kindling for the kitchen stove. She snatched the poster out of the bin and compared the guitar on the ad to the one in the photo. She laughed as she confirmed that it was indeed the same guitar. De la Cruz had kept it all these years, and what's more, Coco had read in the local paper that the same guitar now hung above his crypt. For the first time in 21 years, her papá's guitar was finally within reach.

Coco turned and ran toward the kitchen, calling as she went, "Mamá! Mamá!"

Imelda stepped out of the kitchen into the compound. Most of the rest of the family also turned to see what had gotten Coco so excited.

"What's wrong, Coco?" Imelda asked.

"Nothing's wrong, Mamá," Coco assured her. "In fact, everything is right! We finally have a lead! Papá's guitar is not half a mile from here, waiting to be brought back to us!" She waved the photo and the poster in front of Imelda. "See this poster? It's the same guitar!"

Rosita gasped. "Are you sure it's the same guitar?"

"Positive! How could they possibly be different instruments?"

"Mija, now is not the time to be concerning ourselves with this," Imelda said.

"But Mamá, we know Papá took his guitar along when he was kidnapped, and we know de la Cruz stole his songs. It makes perfect sense that he would steal Papá's guitar as well."

"That may be, but we have no way of getting the guitar back at this time. Let us focus on the holiday right now, and tomorrow we can—"

"I'm tired of waiting!" Coco shouted. "I'm tired of sitting around, doing nothing, while that killer is practically worshiped! We've allowed him to scare us into silence and inaction for too long, Mamá! We need to act now!"

"I have not been inactive, Coco," Imelda defended. "But there is a process to these things, and there are some things that must be done over time."

"You've done nothing for the last two decades, Mamá!" Coco accused. "You keep saying you're just waiting for the right moment, but in reality, you've given up on Papá!"

"Socorro Rivera, listen to me!" Imelda snapped. "I have not given up on anything! I have had a plan in place for some time now, and I—"

"You haven't planned on anything except running as far away from pain as you can! You can't even stand the sound of music because you can't bear a little bit of pain to keep Papá's memory alive! Well, unlike you, I have no intention of giving up on Papá, no matter how painful it may be!" Tears began rolling down Coco's cheeks as she finished her tirade.

"Mi amor..." Júlio said softly, attempting to approach Coco and diffuse the situation.

Coco waved him off, still focused on her mother, who now wore an expression of genuine hurt.

"I am not giving up on him, Coco," Imelda said softly, tears starting to burn in her eyes. "Don't you think I want to bring your papá home? But I also have a family to care for, and the living are of greater concern to me than the dead. Just as they should be for you. That doesn't mean I don't care about my husband; that I don't want to get justice for him."

"Could've fooled me," Coco spat. "Living or dead, family is family. And I am not about to leave part of mine to be forgotten when I can actually do something about it." She spun on her heel and stormed away, leaving two very confused little girls in her wake.

Imelda stood in stunned, hurt silence as Coco stormed out of the compound and into the street, still clutching the photo and poster.

"Papá, why is Mamá so angry?" Victória asked.

"It's complicated, mija," Júlio said. "Why don't you help your abuelita finish setting up for tonight? I'm going to go make sure your mamá is alright."

With that, Júlio dashed out of the compound. Pepita appeared from her spot by the kitchen and bounded after him.

* * *

Coco wiped tears away as she made her way hastily toward the graveyard. A bell tolled in the distance, announcing the start of Dia de los Muertos. She studied the photo in her hand. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she knew one thing; her papá's guitar wasn't going to spend one more second in de la Cruz's possession if she could at all help it.

As Coco approached the graveyard, she saw a large crowd gathered around the mausoleum, covering it in marigolds and various offerings. She blanched at the display. How she hated seeing that murderer so celebrated!

It occurred to Coco that she still wouldn't be welcome around that crowd, given her family's contempt for de la Cruz—something they'd never tried to keep hidden, and had even worn on their sleeves with pride. Coco decided the best course of action would be to linger in the shadows until the crowds thinned or were distracted by something else, allowing her to access the mausoleum more easily. She carefully removed her family portrait from its frame and tucked the photo into a pocket of her leather apron. She discarded the frame and the de la Cruz poster in a nearby garbage bin, then slinked along the edge of the graveyard, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

As the sky darkened, Coco tried to stay hidden behind headstones and trees. She was growing impatient. But the crowds at the mausoleum didn't seem to be thinning. As a string of people moved past her, Coco shifted into position to merge with the crowd in an attempt to get closer to de la Cruz's tomb. As she did so, she felt something soft brush against her legs. She looked down and saw Pepita, who stared back up at her with an intense gaze.

"You can't change my mind, Pepita," she told the tabby. "I'm getting my papá's guitar back tonight. Nothing is going to stop me."

Except, maybe, the local police, thoughts of spending the night in jail, disgracing the family with a criminal record, making her daughters a laughing stock in town...

Coco faltered for a moment as the idea of possibly being arrested for what she was about to do finally crossed her mind. Was this really the best course of action to take? Perhaps this is what Mamá meant when she said that the living should concern her more than the dead. What good could stealing de la Cruz's guitar possibly do anyway? It wouldn't bring Papá back, and it wouldn't lend any credence to her family's story. If anything, it could hurt their claims.

Coco shook her head. "No, I can't be afraid of what people think," she declared. "If they won't listen, I will make them listen! One way or another, Papá's story will be heard! I refuse to do nothing! Perhaps if they see what lengths I'm willing to go to, they will give me a chance to tell our story."

Pepita gave an exasperated huff as Coco pressed onward, bounding to keep up with the human, meowing loudly. If she couldn't convince Coco to go home, perhaps she could at least draw attention to Coco in hopes that Júlio would find her soon.

"Cállate, Pepita!" Coco shushed her. She bent down to push the cat away, but Pepita kept pace.

Coco settled behind a large headstone and waited for the right moment to approach the mausoleum. She observed that the gate leading into the tomb was locked tight, as several people tried rattling the bars. Pepita continued to butt her head against Coco's arms, prompting Coco to push her away multiple times.

After several tense minutes, Coco finally got the break she was hoping for. The fireworks had started, drawing the crowd a fair distance from the mausoleum. One onlooker cheered for the display, shouting something about fireworks being one of de la Cruz's absolute favorite things. Coco rolled her eyes as she crept toward the mausoleum. Everyone's backs were turned. Now was likely her only chance.

She spied a window with a ledge just wide enough to perch herself on. She carefully pressed on the pane, noting that it was held shut with a rather flimsy lock. But it would still make noise when broken, so her timing had to be just right. As the next loud firework burst, Coco slammed her shoulder into the window, the snap and clatter of the small metal bit adequately covered by the boom overhead.

Coco slipped inside the mausoleum and crept up to de la Cruz's crypt. She immediately spied the white, skull-faced guitar on the wall above de la Cruz's resting place. She easily hopped up on top of the stone covering the coffin, wincing slightly when it slid a couple of inches. Coco took a moment to stare in awe at the beautiful guitar, reverently running a hand over its polished surface. Not wanting to linger a moment too long, she gently lifted the guitar off its pegs and slid back down to the floor. Now to get out of there and back to the zapateria.

She gripped the guitar tight as she made her way back to the window. She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard voices outside, far too close for comfort. She backpedaled, her hands shaky. Why did she think this was a good idea again?

Her trembling hands caused her to nearly lose her grip on the guitar, and she shuffled to readjust, accidentally strumming the instrument. A burst of wind seemed to emanate from the guitar, stirring the marigold petals that littered the floor around her. Coco could've sworn she saw them glow.

Suddenly a voice shouted, "De la Cruz's guitar! It's gone!"

Panic rose in Coco's throat. She hadn't planned on being caught this quickly. She ducked beneath one of the windows, trying to tuck herself and the guitar into the shadows. The voices outside continued.

"The window is broken!"

"Someone get security!"

"It's alright, folks, I'm here!"

Coco saw a beam from a flashlight and heard keys jangle. She swallowed hard and silently cursed her impulsiveness.

The guard entered the mausoleum, sweeping his flashlight around. "Alright, who's in there?" he called.

Coco sighed in resignation and pulled herself up, gently laying down the guitar as she held her hands up in surrender pose. "I'm sorry," she began, "it's not quite what it seems. I-I was trying..."

To Coco's absolute shock, the guard not only failed to see her, but he walked right through her. Coco felt a wave of nausea as the man phased through her suddenly translucent body. She spun around in terror as the guard picked up the guitar and put it back in its place.

"There's nobody here!" he declared.

Coco glanced down at her hands and noticed that they were surrounded by an orange glow. What had happened to her? She began to panic as the realization set in that whatever she had attempted to do just now had clearly been a huge mistake.

And she had no idea how to undo it.

* * *

 **AN:** So I hate writing arguments. It's hard to make all that back and forth shouting feel authentic rather than forced. It's also hard to avoid age regressing the party that's in the wrong. Coco is supposed to be 24 years old, and I can't help feeling I've made her sound like a preteen. So feedback on this one is appreciated. Yes, Imelda von Trapp is certainly running from painful memories, hence the music ban. I couldn't resist the shout out, and it sort of snuck in there without my immediately noticing.

Next chapter: We finally meet Héctor! Or as I like to call him, Mexican Klinger.


	4. The Folly of the Living

Chapter 4: The Folly of the Living

Coco stumbled out of the mausoleum as people streamed in, all of them chattering, asking who would break into the tomb and where they might have gone. She phased through several people along the way, despite her best efforts to dodge them. Each time, a wave of nausea swept over her. She bolted from the mausoleum, confused and still panicked. What on earth was she going to do?

Suddenly, Coco heard Júlio shout her name. She turned and saw him weaving through the headstones.

"Coco, mi amor, where are you?"

"Júlio!" Coco shouted back, running for him with arms outstretched. But just as with the others, she phased right through him, stumbling and falling to the ground at someone's feet.

"Are you alright, señorita?" the man said, reaching to help her up.

Coco was relieved that someone could see her and accepted the hand extended to her. "Gracias," she said, looking up at her helper. But the moment they made eye contact, they both screamed. Coco was looking right at a skeleton!

She backed away as the skeleton stared down at his hands as if he'd just touched something evil. As Coco spun to head back toward Júlio, she saw for the first time that she was surrounded by skeletons. She dashed over to a tree and threw herself behind it, attempting to catch her breath. She studied the glow around her body for a moment, then peaked out from behind the tree. Scattered throughout the graveyard were glowing, translucent skeletons, most of whom were celebrating alongside their living loved ones. Deceased grandparents cooed over toddlers. A skeletal little girl wrapped her arms as comfortingly as she could around a young couple who wept at a small grave. A ghostly teacher teased his students as they wrote notes for him and placed them on his grave. He reached for the letters and extracted ghostly copies of them. Elsewhere, other skeletons did the same with offerings left for them.

Coco pinched herself. She had to be dreaming! She wasn't really seeing dead people, was she? Suddenly, something brushed up against her legs, causing her to yelp and jump. She looked down and saw Pepita, who looked back at her with an almost smug expression.

"Pepita? You can see me?"

Pepita meowed in response.

Coco sighed. "Alright, so I should've listened to you. You were trying to warn me, after all. But what do I do now, Pepita? I've made a huge mistake!"

The cat mewed and bounded past Coco a few steps, then turned and gazed at her, as if beckoning her to follow. Coco shrugged and complied. After all, it wasn't like she had any better ideas.

Coco dodged around both the living and the dead as she followed Pepita, trying not to make it apparent that she could see the skeletons. Though one or two of them noticed her movements and stared curiously. "Where are we going, Pepita?" she called after her furry guide.

Pepita made no response to her name and simply continued on her way. Soon she led Coco to an orange bridge, off of which dozens of the dead were streaming. Pepita stepped onto the bridge, her paws sinking part way into what Coco realized were marigold petals. She gasped at the sight. Pepita turned back to look at her, encouraging her to follow further.

She was about to step onto the bridge when she noticed there was some sort of barrier that the skeletons were stepping through. On the bridge side, they appeared solid, with no ethereal glow around them. When they passed through the barrier, they became translucent and glowing. Coco reached out for the barrier. As her fingers passed through, she felt a tingling sensation. It seemed safe enough, so she stepped through and continued to follow Pepita.

As they made their way across the bridge, Coco suddenly became very aware of how much she stood out. Skeletons who noticed her gaped in shock, and Coco wished she'd worn some kind of sweater or jacket that she could pull over her head.

The attention was mercifully short lived, however, as someone shouted and pointed at the sky.

"Look at that!"

"That's not an alebrije!"

"What is that?"

Coco looked up and saw something roughly triangular shaped, with a skeleton attached to it. She realized it was a hang glider. But its pilot was doing more hanging than gliding. The glider was headed right for the barrier at the end of the bridge.

The pilot let out a loud grito. "I'm almost there!" he screamed.

The crowd watched as the glider suddenly collided with the barrier as if it were a brick wall. There was a collective gasp, and Coco winced as the glider and its pilot fell to the ground, both bent and disassembled.

"It's that crazy hombre who keeps trying to cross even though he doesn't have a photo up," one skeleton commented.

"Doesn't he know when to give up?" another said.

Coco dashed back to the end of the bridge. She may have been the odd one out in this land, but she wasn't about to leave that poor man unattended by his fellow skeletons. When she arrived at his landing point, she found him flailing, trying to keep his head and arms above the marigold petals while also calling his scattered bones back before they sank through. Coco noted that the petals didn't glow for him, and he looked like he was floundering in water.

"No no nonononono!" he cried as he began to lose his fight to stay on top of the petals. But just as his head ducked beneath the flowers, Coco grabbed his arm and pulled him up. She allowed him to cling to her, knowing he had nothing solid to sit on, and watched as he reassembled himself by some unseen force.

"Are you alright, señor?" Coco asked.

"Si, si, I think I'm..." the skeleton began, looking up at his rescuer. His eyes widened and he let go of Coco for a moment. "AAAHH! You...you're alive!" He very nearly disappeared beneath the petals again, but Coco caught him.

"Yeah, I'm alive," Coco said. "And I have no idea how I ended up here. I need to get home, but I can't do that without help. Can you help me?"

The skeletal man had gone silent, staring intently at Coco, still wearing an expression of shock. Yet also...recognition?

"Is everything alright?" Coco asked.

"...Coco?" the skeleton ventured.

"Uh...si? Do I...do I know you?"

The skeleton looked like he was on the verge of tears, and for a moment Coco wondered if the dead could actually still cry.

"Coco...it's me," he said, voice faltering.

Before Coco could respond, a group of skeletons took notice of their situation.

"Oh, well done, Héctor," one of them mocked. "Security's gonna bust you for the whole of next year for this one."

"Don't look at us to help you get back across the bridge," a skeleton woman huffed.

Coco's shock at the identity of the skeleton in her arms didn't have time to register as she turned her gaze on the skeletons behind her, allowing them to take a good look at the flesh on her cheeks. "I will take him back, thank you very much. We'll manage just fine."

Her response had the desired effect. The skeletons gasped and hurried on their way. "Ay, Santa Maria!" one of them shouted as they quickly passed through the barrier.

Pepita strode up to Coco and Héctor, sitting down to observe silently as Coco turned her attention back to the skeleton clinging to her.

Finally, it registered in Coco's mind who she had just aided. Her eyes filled with tears as she studied the skull before her, trying to match it to the vague face that held a special place in her memories.

"Papá? Is it really you?"

"It's really me, mija," Héctor replied, pushing himself up more to wrap his arms further around Coco. She returned his embrace, and for several moments, father and daughter wept together.

Héctor put a hand to Coco's cheek. "How, mija?" he asked.

Coco blushed. "I...think it happened when I...well, I tried to get your guitar back. From de la Cruz's mausoleum." She looked down, suddenly ashamed to meet her father's gaze.

Héctor frowned. "Oh, great, my daughter the grave robber," he muttered. "Mija, I'm sure your heart was in the right place, but..."

"I know, Papá. It was foolish of me. I was upset and not thinking straight, and I paid for it."

Héctor thought for a moment. "Look, if we go across the bridge, once we get through reentry, we'll go to the Department of Family Reunions. If anyone can help us, it's them. We'll get you home."

Coco smiled. Things might just work out in her favor tonight after all.

"One hiccup," Héctor said. "I can't exactly cross this dumb flower bridge myself, because I don't have a picture up on the ofrenda. So...I might need you to help me get back."

"Oh, right," Coco said, rising to her feet and pulling Héctor up with her. Once on his knees, Héctor was about eye level with Coco. She stumbled as she tried to shift him awkwardly. He was just bone and clothing, but he was still much taller than she, and his height made the weight of his bones very awkward.

Working together, the two managed to swing Héctor onto Coco's back, and he tried to fold his long legs up so they wouldn't drag on the ground. The two made an odd pair as they followed Pepita further across the bridge into the Land of the Dead, conversing as they went.

"Once I return home," Coco said, "we can get a picture up for you. There should be time left for you to visit tonight."

"But de la Cruz tore up the only photo we had of me," Héctor reminded her. "Unless you got it back, but it wasn't up tonight when I tried to cross the usual way."

"My sweet little Victória is drawing a portrait of you, based on the description Mamá gave her. She insists on getting it just right before it can go on the ofrenda, so that's why it's not up just yet."

Coco felt Héctor stiffen a bit, then sit up straighter. "I have a granddaughter?" he said, joy evident in his voice.

"Two," Coco replied. "Vicita is four now, and Elena is two. They both take after their abuelita, but Vicita is also an artist, like you were. And Elena loves to dance, when she can get away with it."

Héctor hugged Coco's neck, trembling with excitement. Suddenly he threw his hands in the air and let out an ear-piercing grito. Coco winced, but couldn't help smiling.

"I'm a grandpa!" Héctor cried, drawing even more attention to the two of them. "I have granddaughters! And I bet they're every bit as lovely and sweet and adorable as their mamá!"

"I'm glad you're excited, Papá," Coco said with a chuckle, "but could you avoid doing a grito right in my ear?"

"Oh, lo siento, mija," Héctor said sheepishly.

As they reached the apex of the bridge, Coco gasped, noticing for the first time a grand city that spread out before her. Off to either side, she could see marigold bridges identical to the one she was on, spaced evenly apart, stretching off past the horizon. The city was very colorfully lit, with buildings rising into the sky. It seemed that the Land of the Dead had to build up just as much as out to accommodate continuous arrivals. For a world full of the deceased, it looked surprisingly lively.

Héctor jumped off of Coco's back the moment he was sure he could touch solid ground again and guided Coco to the reentry line. Coco noticed that most people in line had their arms full of offerings from their living families and friends.

"So who's the man who captured my niña's heart?" Héctor asked as they waited. "And how did he get past your mamá?"

Coco giggled and recounted the story of how she met Júlio while sneaking off to the plaza one day to practice her dancing. Héctor grimaced as Coco explained that Imelda had banned music in the Rivera home due to the painful memories it brought, but was somewhat relieved to know she didn't try to stop Coco from going elsewhere to enjoy it. Coco recounted how Júlio was an apprentice upholster, and his work ethic and honesty had endeared him to Imelda almost immediately.

"Wish I could've been there for the interrogation," Héctor said wistfully. "Oh, come on, mija, it's our turn!" He pulled her up to the customs agent.

"Welcome back!" the man greeted. "Anything to declare?"

"Ahh...about that..." Héctor said, nudging Coco in front of him.

Coco gave the agent a bashful smile. "Hola," she said.

The agent's jaw literally dropped off his skull and onto his desk.

* * *

The trip through Marigold Grand Central Station was quicker than Coco anticipated, given the station's immense size. It seemed that this was the hub for all comings and goings in the Land of the Dead regardless of the holiday. But Héctor and Coco easily made it to the Department of Family Reunions, though not without plenty of stares and surprised remarks from other dead along the way. Once at the department, Héctor and Coco found a seat to wait their turn to see someone who might have some knowledge of how to get Coco home. Pepita jumped up onto Coco's lap and prompted her to start petting.

Coco passed the time studying the people around her. They were of all ages, and there didn't seem to be a disproportionate number of people over age 50 (though to be fair, age was harder to tell on a skeleton). It seemed to her that age demographics in the Land of the Dead were fairly similar to what they were in living Mexico. It saddened her to see whole families here, complaining to agents about having to travel so far in one night to reach multiple ofrendas. But it cheered her up a bit to note that the dead themselves, even the youngest ones, didn't seem at all depressed about their condition. She listened with amusement as a married couple bickered about whether to visit the family of an ex. It seemed funny to her that the concerns of the living were also often the concerns of the dead. She grimaced as she overheard other dead talking about how this was de la Cruz's first Dia de los Muertos since arriving, and they hoped to see him on his way to Santa Cecilia.

Héctor must have overheard them as well, because Coco heard him mutter, "Yeah right, like de la Cruz wants anything to do with our little backwater town. It's not big enough for his ego anymore."

"Ahem," a man's nasally voice called from a nearby office. "Is the...Rivera family of Santa Cecilia present?"

Héctor and Coco stood and turned toward the voice. It belonged to a rather short clerk, who stood in the doorway of his office, glancing over a clipboard.

"That's us," Héctor answered. He and Coco approached the clerk. "We were told you might be able to help my daughter, here? She got herself accidentally sent here, even though she's still alive."

"Yes, yes, I've got all the information you need," the clerk answered. "Step into my office, please."

The two Riveras complied. The clerk closed the door behind them, then returned to his desk and sat down. He opened up a case file and plopped it on the desk, then looked Coco straight in the eye and said, in total deadpan, "Well, you're cursed."

* * *

 **AN:** I had intended to jump right into act two from here, but this chapter ended up being longer than I expected, so I had to break it into two parts. Next chapter will be the lead into act two. Most of act two will parallel the canon storyline pretty closely. As Easter approaches, updates will likely slow down. But I will try my very best to stay focused and committed to finishing this story.


	5. The Mission

Chapter 5: The Mission

"What do you mean 'cursed?'" Héctor cried. "'Cursed' as in she can never go back?"

"Dia de los Muertos is a day to give to the dead," the clerk explained. He gave Coco a very pointed look as he sorted through stacks of manila folders. "You _stole_ from the dead."

"The guitar was stolen in the first place," Coco said defensively. "I was trying to take it back. By laws of inheritance, it belongs to my family."

"By _living_ laws of inheritance," the clerk replied. "For the dead, it works a bit differently. Anything on a grave or an ofrenda belongs exclusively to the dead. And if you steal from them on Dia de los Muertos, well..."

"So what are you saying? That de la Cruz has exclusive rights to a guitar he stole just because it was buried with him?"

"Not exactly. If, as you claim, the guitar was stolen to begin with, then its exclusive owner is the one from whom it was stolen."

Coco crossed her arms. "That would be my papá," she said. "And don't try to deny it!"

The clerk raised an eyebrow at her. "Señora, I could hardly care less who this guitar belongs to. It's of no importance to me. It is, however, of critical importance to you."

"Well, I'm glad someone agrees with me on that point," Coco quipped.

"Coco..." Héctor said, in a voice gently reminding her to be respectful. He was starting to see shades of Imelda in her, and he worried for a moment that Coco might have inherited Imelda's temper. As much as he desperately loved his wife, her tendency to fly off the handle at some minor offense had always concerned him just a bit. The last thing they needed at the moment was for Coco to have an outburst similar to the ones he'd witnessed from Imelda when she was truly enraged.

As the humans conversed, Pepita leaped up onto the clerk's desk and began sniffing at a plate of pastries. The clerk sneezed loudly, sending Pepita scrambling for safety behind Héctor.

"I'm sorry, whose alebrije was that?" the clerk asked.

"Oh, that's my mamá's cat, Pepita," Coco answered. "She's not...I don't understand, an alebrije?"

"Spirit guides," Héctor explained. "The wildlife of this land. They can cross into people's dreams, too. Very colorful. Lots of mixing and matching of animales."

"So...they're not just a souvenir one guy with a fever dreamed up?" Coco asked.

"Um...I guess not?" Héctor replied, confused.

"At any rate, Pepita's certainly not an alebrije."

The clerk sneezed again as he brushed cat hair off his desk. "Whatever she is, I'm—achoo! I'm terribly allergic."

"But you have no nose," Coco pointed out.

"And yet here we are," the clerk stated, taping his glasses to the bridge of his nose to avoid losing them in another sneeze. Then he turned the discussion back on topic. "The reason the ownership of the guitar is so important in your case is because to undo a curse such as this, you need the blessing of the offended, or of their family. That works out in your favor, because the one whom you wronged is here in this room, if your claim is correct, and as he is family, I'm sure it won't be difficult to get his blessing."

"So all I need to do to send her back to the land of the living is bless her?" Héctor asked.

"Si, and all it requires is a cempazuchitl petal," the clerk replied, stooping to look around the office floor for one. He found one clinging to the hem of Héctor's pants and plucked it up. He handed the petal to Héctor and gave instructions for the blessing. "Now you look at the living and say her name."

"Coco," Héctor complied.

"Nailed it. Now say, 'I give you my blessing.'"

"I give you my blessing," Héctor repeated. The petal began to glow.

"Then you hand the petal to Coco. And technically, you can also add any condition you want. If she breaks those conditions, she'll be whisked right back here."

"Eh, let's just say it's an unconditional blessing," Héctor said. "I'm pretty sure she knows better than to get herself cursed again, eh, mija?" He gave Coco a paternal look that made it quite clear he expected her to learn her lesson.

Coco smiled. "Si, Papá. No more robbing graves, even if they belong to those who have robbed the dead themselves." Suddenly her face fell. "Only..."

Héctor lowered the petal. As he did so, the glow ceased. "What's wrong, mija?"

Coco rubbed her shoulder in silence for a moment. Héctor gave her a compassionate smile. He was sure he knew what she was thinking. He approached her and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm going to miss you too, mija," he said. "I miss your mamá every day that we're apart, and I know you'll give her my love. But if that little granddaughter you told me about ever gets my picture up, I can come visit you every year. And you'll know for sure that I'm there."

Coco looked up at him, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. "I do miss you, Papá, and I know you'll visit as often and as long as you can, but..." She wiped her eyes. "It shouldn't be a drawing on the ofrenda, it should be your photo. And that shouldn't be the only place we put offerings, either. You should have your grave in town, near us, clearly marked with your name. We don't even have that. We don't even know how you died, or where you were buried. If...if we can just get that much, maybe we can finally bring you...bring your body...home. Mamá has even promised that if we find your body and are also able to reclaim your guitar, she will lift the music ban. Júlio and I can dance together again! I can teach Elena! But most importantly of all, if we know where to find you and what happened to you, we can finally prove what we've been trying to prove for over two decades now. We can prove that de la Cruz is a thief, a kidnapper and a murderer. And that, more than anything else, would really give our family the closure we need."

Héctor's figurative heart clenched as Coco poured her sorrows out. He felt guilt claw at him. He should've been there for his family. He should've tried harder to return. He silently cursed de la Cruz, not for the first time since he'd been dragged from his home, and, he was certain, not for the last.

"I-I wish I could help, mija," he said. "I wish I could return with you and tell them what really happened to me. I wish I could come home." He cupped his hand behind her head and touched his forehead to hers.

"You _can_ help, Papá," Coco said, pulling back to meet his gaze. "You can tell me exactly what happened to you. That will give me at least an idea of where to find your body, and from there, we can start searching for clues. We can get justice for you! We just need to know where to look for you."

Héctor remained silent as memories of his final moments flooded back to him. He gulped back that feeling of dread associated with his death that had come too soon and too suddenly. He had tried to avoid thinking about what had happened ever since arriving in the Land of the Dead, and even now he couldn't quite bring himself to face the reality that a man he had previously trusted would break so thoroughly as to threaten his family and ultimately end his life.

"I don't...I don't recall much," Héctor said, his voice barely above a mumble. "It's all a blur...I couldn't tell you what happened to my body. I have no way of knowing."

"Then there's only one way to find out," Coco said. "There's at least one witness here, and it's high time we faced him."

Héctor gaped at her. "No, no, no, mija, you are loca if you think for one moment I would let you get anywhere near de la Cruz!"

"We don't need to confront him directly," Coco said. "Not just yet, anyway. But he might still have the evidence we need." She pulled the family portrait out of her apron pocket and held it up for her papá to see. "That man tried to tear our family apart, and he even did so in effigy. You've been out of this picture for far too long, because of him! This is the closest I may ever get to facing him myself and making him answer for his crimes. I at least want to try."

"It's too dangerous, Coco! You're alive; you don't belong here! Not yet. I don't want the same thing to happen to you that happened to me. And besides, what could you possibly hope to get from de la Cruz? A confession? He won't give you that, you know that."

Coco thought for a moment, then turned to the clerk. "The dead can carry offerings into this world. Is it possible for the living to bring something back with them from the Land of the Dead?"

The clerk thumbed through his files. "Well...such a thing is unprecedented, so it's impossible to say for certain. But whatever you think you have to do, you need to do it by sunrise."

"Why, what happens at sunrise?" Coco asked, extending her hands for emphasis.

"Coco, your hand!" Héctor cried, pointing at Coco's left arm.

She glanced at her hand and was shocked to see that the flesh had become translucent, and the distal phalanx bone of her index finger was perfectly visible. She held her finger up and stared in horror, flexing the digit and watching as the phalanx moved. Suddenly the edges of her vision darkened, and she felt her body go limp. The photo she held in her right hand slipped from her grasp.

Héctor moved to catch Coco as she began to fall, keeping her on her feet. "Whoa, now, mija! Stay with me! It's alright. It'll be alright." He gave her a slight shake to bring her back to consciousness.

" _That_ will happen," the clerk stated. "Once you're a skeleton like the rest of us, that's it for you. You're dead. And without even a body to return to your family."

Coco trembled and gulped. So this is what it was to be cursed. She pushed herself to stand under her own power, then shakily bent down to pick up her family portrait, tucking it back into her apron. She then turned and gave her father a determined look.

"I'm not leaving until I know your full story, Papá," she said. "And...I also want some piece of evidence—physical evidence—against de la Cruz. Or at least something that can prove he stole your songs and guitar. That would be a start."

Héctor was about to protest when he saw the determination in Coco's eyes. That too was from her mother. And there would be no arguing with her. He gave a defeated sigh.

"Alright, mija, I'll help you get dirt on de la Cruz. Under two conditions. One, you go home by sunrise no matter what we find or learn. Two, you stay away from de la Cruz at all costs."

"I'll do my best, Papá," Coco promised. "So where do we start?"

Héctor tapped a finger to his chin. "De la Cruz will have been left offerings from all over Mexico. One of them could be my songbook. He needed that more than he needed me. If we can find that, you might be able to bring it home with you, and you can possibly use it to prove I wrote those songs."

"Sounds like a plan," Coco agreed. "And on our way to reach de la Cruz..."

"Which will be the really tricky part," Héctor interrupted. "De la Cruz is a tough guy to get to."

"Then that should give you plenty of time to tell me your story," Coco finished.

Héctor hesitated. "Eh...I...okay, yes, I'll tell you. As much as I can remember, anyway. Like I said...it's all a bit...hazy."

"Well, best of luck to you both," the clerk said as he propped his feet on his desk and began to munch on some of the pastries left to him by his living relatives.

"Gracias, señor," Coco said as she and her papá left the office, Pepita trotting along behind them.

As the door closed behind them, the clerk chuckled wryly to himself. _They're never gonna succeed,_ he thought. He sneezed loudly again and brushed more cat hair off his plate, annoyed.

* * *

Héctor and Coco made their way through the station toward the exit.

"So any ideas for getting close to de la Cruz?" Coco asked.

"I happen to know where he rehearses," Héctor said. "We could start there. But remember, I don't want you going near him. In fact..." he paused to study her. "You could really use a disguise, mija. Right now you've got all that...flesh. We gotta cover that somehow."

Before Coco could respond, they heard a shout from behind them. They turned and saw security guards running their direction.

"Rivera!" one of them shouted. "Stop where you are! You're under arrest for unauthorized bridge crossing, flying a hang glider without a license, and littering!"

Héctor and Coco glanced at one another for only a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Then they both turned and bolted for the exit, weaving in and out of the crowd, Pepita hot on Coco's heels.

 _Well, this is certainly turning into a memorable night,_ Coco thought as she and Pepita tried to keep pace with Héctor.

* * *

End Act One

 **AN:** Héctor's reluctance to tell the story of his death is due primarily to my attempt to think something up. He wouldn't allow himself to be poisoned so easily by someone he knows means to kill him, so I may have to find another COD.


	6. The Rehearsal Hall

Chapter 6: The Rehearsal Hall

Once Héctor and Coco were out of the station and sure they'd lost the guards, they slowed their pace to a walk, laughing as they caught their breath.

"Dare I ask if that's an annual occurrence for you, Papá?" Coco said, her voice still full of mirth.

"Eh...well, when you don't have a photo on an ofrenda, you tend to get creative with the ways to go see your family," Héctor replied with a shrug. "And it was kind of fun. Right up until I hit that barrier."

"That looked rather painful."

"I've felt worse."

"You're crazy, Papá," Coco teased.

"Absolutely loco," Héctor confirmed with a goofy smile. "So now we gotta get you some kind of disguise. Maybe calavera makeup, if we can find something like that."

Coco reached into her apron pocket and produced two tins of shoe polish; one white, one black. "Will these do?" she suggested.

Héctor collected the tins from her hands. "Epa! These will do very nicely."

"Probably not the best thing for my complexion, but I'll manage," Coco said.

The two ducked into an alleyway and found a couple of crates to sit on. Héctor applied the polish to Coco's face, bidding her to look up or down or to turn her face as he needed her to. Coco noted, bemused, that he used the same voice while instructing her that she remembered him using when he was assisting her as a small child, usually with something like cleaning her face or brushing her hair. Once Héctor was done, he instructed her to stay put for a moment, then disappeared around the corner. He returned not a minute later with a sweater that would cover Coco's fleshy arms, which were bare from just below the shoulder down.

"Where did you find that, Papá?" Coco questioned.

"Just borrowed it from the neighbor's laundry line," Héctor replied. "Don't worry, we'll bring it right back when we're done with it. They won't even know it's missing."

Coco raised an eyebrow. "What was that about how we shouldn't go around stealing from the dead?"

"Borrowed," Héctor repeated. "Borrowed without asking, but with every intention of returning." He glanced at the sweater in his hands, then at Coco. "Just...do as I say, not as I do. You know that one, right? Parenting 101." He grinned sheepishly.

Coco couldn't really deny that, as she and Júlio had applied the same principle to disciplining Victória. So she simply shook her head and said, "Alright, Papá, give me the sweater."

The sweater buttoned at the collar and covered Coco's arms nicely. Her fingers were completely skeletal now, and she was able to see the edges of her metacarpal bones, so it was rather unnecessary to try and cover those with shoe polish. And today, she'd opted to wear boots with her long, flowing skirt, which already covered most of her legs. Héctor looked over Coco, pulled her braids over her shoulders to cover her ears, then produced a compact mirror and handed it to her, so she could see her completed look.

"Dead as a doorknob," Héctor pronounced, proud of his makeup job.

Coco made a few faces in the mirror to test the consistency of the face paint, then gave her reflection a satisfied nod. She handed the mirror back to her papá and said, "Alright, so what's the plan for getting to de la Cruz?"

"Well..." Héctor mused, "de la Cruz is a tough guy to get to. But he's got one major weakness."

"He's a glory hound," Coco stated.

"Yeah, that's about it. The first thing he did after snapping out of his 'Woe is me, I'm dead too early' pity party—which I had one of those too, so I can't fault him for that—was set up a huge concert that will take place tonight, right before sunrise." Hector retched. "He calls it the Sunrise Spectacular."

"But that doesn't make him accessible," Coco pointed out. "If anything, it just means tighter security, as I'm sure there will be lots of fans trying to get backstage just for a glimpse of him. And 'right before sunrise' is cutting it kind of close, don't you think?"

"Way too close," Héctor replied. "We're not going to the Sunrise Spectacular. I've got another avenue. Moirai Avenue, to be precise."

Coco raised an eyebrow, unamused. "Please don't tell me every street name in this city is some spin on the word 'dead.'"

"Okay, I won't tell you that," Héctor said nonchalantly. "Point is, there's a rehearsal hall there. De la Cruz's very own rehearsal hall. And guess who has keys to the back?" He grinned at her.

"Not you. I seriously doubt de la Cruz would just hand the keys to his rehearsal hall to his victim, the man who can expose his crimes."

Héctor grimaced. "Oh, ye of little faith. Okay, so maybe, strictly speaking, I don't have the keys. But I do have connections."

"Alright, Papá," Coco said, rising to her feet. "Show me this studio."

* * *

As Héctor led the way to Moirai Avenue, Coco took in her surroundings. She stared in awe at colorful creatures that seemed to be peppered throughout the city. Many resembled dogs or cats, and more than a few got Pepita hissing at them. Some circled overhead, doing lazy loops and barrel rolls between skyscrapers. They came in all sizes, and some were clearly the pets of the denizens of that land. One small child proudly held up a bunny-like creature for her mother to see. It was rather comical, as the creature was as tall as she was and at least twice as big around, meaning she struggled to lift it.

 _Those are real alebrijes!_ Coco thought excitedly. She looked down at Pepita and tried to imagine what the cat would look like in fluorescent colors and a mixture of animal features.

Héctor didn't seem to notice the alebrijes, instead sauntering along the street, pointing out different features of the city.

"And those are the sky trams. Very touristy. Over there is another Mayan pyramid. Quite popular among the newly deceased. Oh, and look, it's my old boss, Señor Hernandez! He seems to think he fired me, but really I quit."

"What work did you do for him?" Coco asked.

"Oh, we had a tour bus. He hated my puns. So I quit."

Coco was certain there was more to the story than that, but she didn't pry. However, there was one subject that she was eager to pry into.

"So, Papá, what really happened to you?"

Héctor stiffened, his mood suddenly darkening. "I told you, mija, it's all pretty hazy."

"Every day, every week, every month you were gone," Coco said, "and it was all just one big blur to you? Right from the beginning?"

Héctor didn't answer, his jaw set, his attention on the road ahead of them.

"Papá, you promised," Coco reminded him. "I'm not going home until I know what really happened to you; why you were unable to get away and come back to us." She softened a bit. "Was...was it really so bad that you still can't talk about it?"

Héctor released a shaky sigh. His mind flashed back to a montage of terrifying days and nights on the road. He hated even acknowledging what had happened. But foremost in his mind was the memory of the day he'd been dragged away from his home in Santa Cecilia.

Coco could see the difficulty with which he fumbled for something to say. So she decided to start slow and simple. "Okay, Papá, we'll take this one step at a time. First, how long was it between the day you were taken and the day you..." A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult for her to spit out the word. She could certainly appreciate why this was so painful for her father. "The day you died?" she finished.

Héctor gave her a hint of a smile, silently thanking her for easing up and not plowing directly into the most agonizing details of the story. "Five months," he said quietly. "I only lasted five months. I'd...I'd just turned 21 a few days before."

That information hit Coco like a ton of bricks. He was only three years younger than she was now. He should be twice his age, celebrating his birthday with his family at the end of that same month. And it would never happen. He'd been dead now for as long as he'd been alive.

All because of Ernesto de la Cruz.

It was enough to render them both silent for the remainder of the journey. But Coco closed the distance between herself and her papá, slipping her hand into his. On his other side, Pepita rubbed up against his leg, also offering the young skeleton some comfort.

Héctor smiled contentedly as he allowed his daughter to lean into him. He had missed this so much it hurt.

* * *

It wasn't much longer before they reached the designated street. At the end of it was an alley leading to the backside of a large rehearsal hall. Héctor bade Coco to pause a moment and gave her a grin.

"Watch this, mija," he said. Then, to a mixture of Coco's horror and amusement, Héctor popped off his entire arm, pulled it back against one of his suspender straps, and released it like an arrow. It flew up to a window sill and, moving on its own accord, rapped on the glass.

The window opened, revealing an older skeleton woman whom Coco found to be vaguely familiar. She grabbed Héctor's arm and used it to point accusingly at him.

"You'd better not be here about one of your bridge crossing schemes, Héctor!" she shouted before tossing the arm back to its owner and dropping the fire escape ladder for the two newcomers.

"Hola, Ceci!" was all Héctor would respond before leading Coco up the ladder.

"You remember Ceci, don't you Coco?" Héctor asked as he and Coco climbed in the window.

"Oh, Ceci?" Coco repeated, recognition dawning on her face. "She was one of Mamá's good friends! She passed away just a few years ago."

Ceci gaped at Coco. "That can't possibly be you, Coco!" she cried. "Héctor, what happened?"

"Shoe polish happened," Héctor said with a grin, gesturing to Coco. "I do a great calavera face, no? Maybe you should hire me as a makeup artist!"

Ceci's jaw dropped—though, thankfully, it did stay attached to her skull. "Cala...you mean to say she's _alive?_ "

"And we're trying to keep it on the down low," Héctor said. "We just came to see if we could...find something that used to belong to me. Then I'll be sending her back to the land of the living. Where she'll be a good girl and not go get herself cursed again."

Coco rolled her eyes. She'd likely never hear the end of that once she actually died. She tried to change the subject. "It's good to see you again," she said to Ceci. "What do you do here?"

"I'm a costume designer for stars," Ceci said with pride. "My dream job. Funny that I should achieve it in death rather than life. I also seem to be the go-to person for props for your papá's half-baked escape attempts."

"They're not half-baked!" Héctor protested. "I don't even bother turning on the oven. All my brilliant ideas are fresh and raw!"

Ceci fixed him with a glare. "So you admit it, then. You're 'borrowing' my supplies with no intention to return or replace them. And some have even been traced back to me, and I've subsequently received more than my fair share of police visits for helping you commit whatever passes for suicide on that bridge!"

Héctor tried to calm her down as she continued her tirade. "Ceci...Ceci...now, come on, I'm just a man desperate to get back to his familia!"

While the two argued, Coco spotted Pepita exploring into the next room. She followed the cat, and together they wandered around the studio. They passed a female skeleton, posing nude for a painting. Coco found the sight rather intriguing. Did nude figure drawing have the same impact here that it did when the skeleton had flesh on her? Did skeletons even feel arousal? How did...

She shook her head and quickly walked away, decidedly _not_ wanting to entertain the notion that was working its way into her brain.

She eventually found herself on the stage of an auditorium. While Pepita busied herself chasing after a beetle alebrije, Coco looked around. There was a small orchestra rehearsing some of the opening songs for the Sunrise Spectacular, with the conductor, a man in a polka-dot bowtie, stopping the orchestra repeatedly, frustrated because some instrument was out of tune. Off to one side of the stage stood a man working a large camera. Coco wandered over and watched as the cameraman manipulated two large film wheels, threading the film into the camera and focusing the lens on the orchestra.

Everyone had their guilty pleasures, and for Coco, it was a good movie with a good soundtrack. Well, that and dancing. She was also curious about filmmaking in general. How people managed those huge movie cameras, editing the footage together to create one smoothly running piece of art, she'd always wondered at.

"Excuse me, señor," she said, drawing the cameraman's attention to her. "I'm sorry, but I find filmmaking to be very fascinating. Do you mind if I watch you work?"

The cameraman shrugged. "Doesn't bother me any. I'm just trying to get this camera working in time for the concert. De la Cruz likes to capture all his performances on film. He's a movie star first and foremost."

"I'm not surprised," Coco said. "So...how does it work?"

The cameraman spent the next several minutes showing Coco how to thread the film reels, how to adjust the lens, which buttons started the camera recording, and how to tilt and pan. He even gave her a rundown on how to transfer the reels from the camera to a projector. He spoke excitedly about all the latest technology that people were creating for film, bemoaning the fact that it took so long for that tech to trickle into the Land of the Dead, and perking up again when he mentioned how de la Cruz always insisted on the finest, most up-to-date movie making equipment. Coco could appreciate this man's passion for his craft. She was only sorry he had to waste his talent on de la Cruz.

"So are you filming de la Cruz's rehearsal for archival purposes?" Coco asked.

The cameraman scoffed. "Oh, de la Cruz doesn't do rehearsals. He's too busy hosting that party at the top of his tower. The super exclusive one that he's inviting all the celebrities to." He pointed toward the picture windows that overlooked a wide swath of the city's upper districts. Most prominent among the distant buildings was a very brightly lit mansion on top of an enormous tower.

Coco's shoulders slumped. She would have to travel clear across a city that might as well be its own continent just to have a shot at finding the evidence she needed against de la Cruz.

Suddenly, Héctor appeared and ran to Coco's side. "Coco! I told you, let me handle de la Cruz! You're not to go near him!"

"But Papá, de la Cruz isn't even here," Coco said, pointing out the window. "He's clear across town, skipping his rehearsal to rub shoulders with other big names."

"That bum," Héctor muttered. "Who doesn't show up to his own rehearsal?" He turned to the orchestra, who were just packing up their instruments. "Hey, Gustavo, do you know anything about this party?"

One of the violinists turned at the sound of his name. "It's the hot ticket," he replied. "But if you don't have an invitation, you're never getting in, _Chorizo!_ "

The other band members began laughing and pointing at Héctor, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ha ha, very funny, guys, very funny."

"Chorizo?" Coco questioned.

"Oh, this guy's famous!" Gustavo said. "Ask him how he died!"

"I did," Coco said. "Why, what did he tell you?"

"He didn't tell us anything, but a witness did. And that witness was de la Cruz himself! And do you know what he said?"

Coco braced herself for what she knew would be a lie.

"He said this guy choked on some chorizo!" Gustavo cried before dissolving into laughter again, his band mates joining him. Coco's fists clenched. How dare this man make fun of her father's murder!

Héctor had turned his back, trying very hard not to respond to the orchestra's jibes. "This is why I don't like musicians," he finally spat. "They're all a bunch of self-important jerks!"

" _You're_ a musician, Papá," Coco reminded him.

"Was," Héctor said simply.

"Well, if you really wanna go to that party and hear it from de la Cruz himself," Gustavo said, "there is that music competition in la Plaza de la Cruz. Winner gets to play at his party."

Coco began to grin, a plan forming in her mind. Access to de la Cruz's house would be ideal for her mission. Héctor saw her conspiratorial expression forming and quickly tried to dissuade her.

"Wait wait wait, mija, you are _loca_ if you think..."

"We need to find that songbook," Coco said. "And any other incriminating evidence we can as well. Besides, I think it's high time we showed everyone how your songs are really supposed to be played. Do you have a guitar, or know where we can get one?"

Héctor groaned in frustration, once again recognizing that he would not win in a battle of wills against this child of his Imelda. "I know a guy," he said.

* * *

 **AN:** In the interest of ratings, I have worked very hard to refrain from using a joke of questionable appropriateness here. If you're curious, log in and leave a review, and I just might be persuaded to indulge you.


	7. The Outcast and the Forgotten

Chapter 7: The Outcast and the Forgotten

It didn't take Héctor and Coco long to descend into the depths of the city. Coco noted that there seemed to be a city hierarchy based on elevation. The older, more rundown parts of the city were near ground level, while all the middle and upper class structures towered above everything else.

"Where exactly are we going, Papá? Coco asked.

"Paying some friends a visit," Héctor answered.

"You haven't been staying in the slums, have you?"

Héctor shrugged. "Eh...well...off and on. See, when you don't have a photo on an ofrenda, people immediately assume you're nearly forgotten, and they don't like to look at those people, you know?"

Coco gave him an annoyed look. "Still alive, remember, Papá? I don't know anything about this world."

"Oh, right," Héctor conceded. As he led Coco down a rickety old bridge, he explained the workings of the Land of the Dead. "This place runs on memories. If you're well remembered, people put up your photo, you get to cross the bridge on Dia de Muertos, bring back offerings, and generally live comfortably. You can even move up in your career, like Ceci did. But once those who remember you in life start dying, you start to fade. Your bones get looser, you start getting tremors, and people stop putting your photo up. And once there's no one left alive who remembers you...you fade completely. It happens to everyone eventually, but the dead don't like to be reminded of it. So those of us without photos or who are showing obvious signs of being forgotten get pushed aside. Even if, like me, someone is still pretty well remembered, it's hard to hold down a decent job once everyone finds out you can't cross the bridge."

"So is that what happened to your tour bus job?" Coco asked. "Your boss fired you because you had no photo?"

Héctor cocked his head. "I...may have let that slip during one of my little comedy routines one shift."

"That hardly seems fair. It's not your fault if you have no photo. It's not your fault if you're forgotten."

"Well, death's not fair," Héctor replied. "Keep up, mija," he called, dropping comically off the end of the dock.

Coco watched, amazed, as Héctor dropped a full story, his bones scattering on the ground. He quickly reassembled himself and directed her to a steep staircase.

Coco joined him at the bottom of the dock. "Why do you do that?" she asked. "It's gotta hurt."

"Eh, it's not too bad," Héctor said. "Besides, your face was priceless." He emphasized his point by playfully poking her in the ribs, drawing a giggle from her.

Pepita followed close behind, stopping abruptly when a rabbit-toad hybrid jumped in front of her, prompting her to hiss at it. It ignored her completely, croaking out, "Alebrije, alebrije, alebrije," as it hopped past, disappearing into the river.

They continued on their way, passing underneath an old stone arch. Graffiti covered the arch, depicting winged skeletons fading into orange swirls. Coco heard a phonograph playing beyond the gate. Once inside the gateway, she saw that the docks diverged various ways, winding around dilapidated shacks. Skeletons mingled around metal barrels with fires in them. Three older skeleton women sat around an overturned wooden crate, laughing, smoking and playing cards. They all had ashen and yellowed bones, and looked like they could fall apart at any moment. One of them looked up and recognized Héctor.

"Cousin Héctor!" she called.

"Hey, Tia Chelo!" Héctor called back. He leaned down and grabbed a bottle of tequila along the way.

Other skeletons greeted him by the same title, and he responded with various familial titles.

"These people can't all be related to you," Coco said.

"Not exactly," Héctor said. "We're all the ones with no photos on ofrendas or no families to go home to. Nearly forgotten. So we all call each other cousin or tia, or whatever."

"You're not nearly forgotten."

"You know that and I know that, and everyone here knows it. But most of the well-remembered don't know that. Or want to know it. This is...kind of the only place I'm always welcome."

Héctor used his teeth to pull the cork out of the tequila bottle, pouring it into glasses for the three women.

"Who's this girl, Héctor?" one of the women asked. "She that wife you keep raving about?"

Héctor laughed. "Oh, no no no, not her. She's...well, she's actually the daughter I keep raving about. She's a bit of a special case. Doesn't belong anywhere here, either among the remembered or down here in ol' Shantytown. Gotta get her home to her mamá."

Two of the skeleton women gasped. "Alive?" one said. "Here?"

"Not here for long. She asked for a tour, and right after that she's going home. Nothing to worry about; we've got it all under control."

Tia Chelo put down her cigarette and studied Coco. "She looks like you, Héctor. Poor niña."

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Tia Chelo," Héctor griped, a smile on his face. "So is Chicharrón around?"

Coco didn't miss the worry that passed over Héctor's face for a moment.

"In the bungalow," Chelo answered, gesturing in that direction. "I don't know if he's in the mood for visitors," she warned.

Héctor laughed. "Who doesn't like a visit from Cousin Héctor?" He pushed his way into the bungalow, gesturing for Coco to follow.

The two had to navigate their way around stacks of boxes. This Chicharrón appeared to be a hoarder. The items in the boxes looked to Coco like they were mostly junk, but a few antiques stood out. Perhaps these were offerings from when this man had family to remember him, once upon a time.

Héctor made his way over to a hammock filled with junk, on top of which sat a sombrero. He poured some tequila into two shot glasses, picked one up, and then lifted the sombrero to reveal a cranky old skull whose facial carvings had long since faded.

"Hola, Cheech," Héctor greeted.

"I don't want to see your stupid face, Héctor!" Cheech spat.

"Oh, come on, amigo, it's Dia de Muertos!" he held up the shot glass. "I brought you a little offering."

"Get out!"

"I would, Cheech, but me and my girl, here...we really need to borrow your guitar."

Cheech grabbed the instrument and held it close. "My guitar? My prized, beloved guitar?"

"I promise we'll bring it right back," Héctor begged.

"Like the time you promised to bring back my truck? Or my ice box? My lasso? My good napkins? My _femur?!_ "

Héctor winced at the mention of each loaned item, flinching away when Cheech stuck out his leg to reveal a pipe where the femur bone should've been. "Ah...about that..."

Cheech grabbed Héctor's tie and yanked him close so he could get in the taller man's face. "Where's my femur, you—nrrrrgh!" Cheech collapsed suddenly as a shimmer of gold light reverberated throughout his body. He let go of Héctor and sank back into his hammock, winded.

Concern was etched all over Héctor's face. "Hey, you alright, amigo?"

"I'm fading," Cheech wheezed. "I can feel it." He gestured to the guitar. "I couldn't play that thing if I wanted to. You...play me something."

"No, you...you know I don't really play anymore, Cheech," Héctor said. He turned and glanced at Coco. "I mean...I don't really...I'm not..."

"If you want it, you've got to earn it," Cheech said sternly.

Héctor sighed. "Well...for you, old friend." He gently took the guitar out of the hammock and placed it on his lap, leaning against the edge of the hammock as he plucked strings and turned tuning pegs. "Any requests?"

Cheech chuckled. "You know my favorite."

A moment or two of extra tuning, and Héctor plucked out a melody. Coco took a seat on a nearby crate, Pepita jumping onto her lap. This would be the first time since she was a little girl that Coco had heard her papá sing and play, and she planned on soaking up every moment. Héctor gave her a tender smile and began to sing.

"Well, everyone knows Juanita, her eyes each a different color."

Cheech settled contentedly into his hammock.

"Her teeth stick out and her chin goes in," Héctor continued. "And her..." he paused for a moment, glancing nervously at Coco, who gave him a confused look. "Knuckles, they drag on the floor," Héctor continued, the altered lyric obvious.

"Those aren't the words!" Cheech protested.

"There are children present," Héctor said, nodding toward Coco.

Coco simply rolled her eyes. "I'm a grown woman, Papá, with children of my own."

"You're still my baby girl," Héctor said fondly.

"Just play your song," Coco scolded, though she couldn't help smiling.

Héctor continued, "Her hair is like a brier. She stands in a bowlegged stance. And if I weren't so ugly...she'd possibly give me a chance."

The song ended on a high, light note. Cheech chuckled again, removing his sombrero and holding it across his chest.

"Brings back memories," he said. With that, he seemed to fall unconscious. Golden and red light enveloped his body, and Coco watched as his bones dissolved into a shimmering dust, carried away on air currents across the river.

Héctor sadly stood, picked up a shot glass and, raising it to Cheech, swiftly drank, setting the empty glass upside down next to the remaining full glass. He then turned and began making his way back outside.

"Wait, Papá, what happened?" Coco asked as she stood to follow, hugging Pepita close for comfort.

"He's been forgotten," Héctor explained. "When there's no one left in the living world who remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the Final Death."

"Where...where did he go?"

"No one knows."

"Is it too late, then? Is there a way to remember him and bring him back? Perhaps, now that I've met him..."

"No, it doesn't work like that, mija," Héctor said sadly. "Once we're gone, we're gone. Our memories...they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life. In the stories they tell about us. But there's no one left to pass down Cheech's stories."

Coco glanced back at the hammock, noticing that the pipe that had taken the place of Cheech's missing femure still stood out among the junk. She looked around the room again, taking in the objects that clearly once had value.

Cheech was well remembered at one time. But once he began to be forgotten, he was pushed away, into this ramshackle hut, to await his ultimate fate.

"You said this happens to everyone eventually," Coco said.

"It sure does," Héctor confirmed. "Well, except maybe Montezuma."

"But if being forgotten here is basically the same as growing old, why aren't people allowed to do so with dignity?" Coco protested. "Why aren't they surrounded by their deceased loved ones, in comfort as they pass, the way the living surround their dying loved ones? Do the dead really fear being forgotten so much that they'll treat those on the brink as though they've already vanished? That they'll behave so coldly and callously toward those most in need of compassion? They threw you out and barred you from working just because someone tore up the only photo we had of you. This is more than just unfair, Papá. It's just plain wrong! There's no excuse to treat people so poorly just because they remind us that we could just as easily be in their shoes ourselves."

Héctor blinked. His daughter had all the makings of a fine motivational speaker. He smiled at her, proud that she'd grown into such a compassionate woman, unafraid to vocalize her concerns for those less fortunate than herself.

"Well...maybe, just maybe, we can do something about that," he said. "But it'll have to wait until after that contest. Come on, mija, we've got a crowd of de la Cruz worshipers to school!"

Coco nodded. If she knew her father, once his picture was on the ofrenda and de la Cruz's crimes were exposed, he would use his newfound good fortune to make life better for those he'd befriended in Shantytown. They would be helped soon... _if_ her mission was successful. She followed her father out of the bungalow, more determined than ever to complete her mission. It wasn't just about her father or her family anymore. She had to help these people too.

* * *

 **AN:** Yes, I'm playing with the canon timeline here. But I can do that with characters like Cheech and Chelo. So I've moved their timeline up for my story. I didn't have the same creative liberty with Frida Kahlo, who is a historical domain character. She's still very much alive at this point, which is why she will not be appearing at all. Cheech's role in this story isn't foreshadowing what could happen to Héctor. He's simply going to provide a reason for the stakes to be increased. Coco now wants to help more than just her father. She's now obligated herself to all of Shantytown. She's basically making herself the hero archetype.


	8. The Long-Awaited Dance

Chapter 8: The Long-Awaited Dance

Coco decided the trolleys in the Land of the Dead were _not_ her thing.

The height of the architecture mandated trolley service to and from various platforms and levels within the city, and there were precious few towers that weren't connected by a myriad of cable lines to one another. In some cases, the lines were so close together that if the trolley service didn't operate on a strict schedule, there was a good chance some cars would collide. Add that to the fact that the trolleys and cables themselves appeared rickety and not very well maintained, and swayed terribly in the slightest breeze, hundreds or even thousands of feet above the ground, and Coco began to realize that safety was not something with which the dead concerned themselves much. Sure, the view the trolleys offered of the city was absolutely breathtaking. But Coco would trade that view any day for the feeling of solid ground beneath her living feet.

She and Héctor sat on the balcony outside the cable car. Coco maintained a death grip on the railing while Héctor casually lounged on top of the railing, tuning Cheech's guitar. One long leg dangled over the edge, as if Héctor were daring the car to shift and throw him off.

"Papá, please get down from there!" Coco pleaded. "You're making me nervous! If you fall, I am _not_ marching all the way down to the ground level to pick up your bones and put you back together!"

Héctor smirked as he studied Coco's worried face. That she was a mother was abundantly clear in her furrowed eyebrows and tight lips. He swung his legs around and hopped down off the railing. "Alright, for you, mija," he said. He continued fiddling with the guitar, plucking out melodies, wincing when he hit a sour note from a string that was way too tight.

"What did you mean, back at the rehearsal hall, when you said you hated musicians?" Coco asked. "And when you told Chicharrón that you didn't play anymore?"

Héctor paused his tuning and sighed. "After everything that happened...you know, to us...to our family...it was hard for me to keep playing. I couldn't play my songs without people saying they like the 'originals' from de la Cruz better. And the pleasure I got out of playing others' songs was just...gone. I played for friends every now and then. But...music, for me, is mostly a bad memory anymore." He smiled sadly at her. "Except for your song. I still sing that. Every night."

Coco felt tears sting her eyes. "So do I, Papá. But...you can't let de la Cruz rob you of your joy for music. That only allows him to hurt our family more." She rested her chin on her hands and gazed out at the city. "I wish I could make Mamá understand that."

Héctor silently observed her for a moment. Memories played through his mind of a young Coco in his arms as he danced. Of Imelda's skirt flaring out as she twirled in step to his guitar riffs. Of holding both his girls in his arms as they sang together.

Of a door being kicked in. Of Imelda screaming his name. Of Coco crying. Of a man shouting and threatening his family. Of glass breaking and furniture being thrown around. Of a final, desperate promise that ultimately went unfulfilled.

Héctor scrunched his eyes shut, forcing the flashback from his mind. He had to stay positive. He had to focus on what he had in front of him. _Don't think about the past. Don't let it get to you._ He opened his eyes and gazed again at his daughter. She'd grown from an adorable little girl into a fiercely passionate woman, willing to defy convention and even her own mother in order to help others and bring justice for the hurting. He hadn't been able to see her grow up, but looking at her now, his figurative heart swelled. He couldn't express how proud he was of her, even if she still made mistakes sometimes.

Héctor placed a hand over his jacket pocket, assuring himself that the marigold petal was still there. Coco's transformation was about to the middle of her forearms, he guessed, so they still had time. He hadn't danced with his niña in 21 years, and he decided that he would enjoy every second of watching her dance on that stage as they performed together for an audience that had no idea what de la Cruz's songs sounded like when played by their true author.

He reached over and nudged Coco. "Our stop's coming up, mija. Are you ready to wow that crowd and prove to the world that no bully killer can keep our family from music forever?"

Coco beamed at him, his face morphing to reflect her delight. "Absolutely, Papá! I only wish I'd brought along a pair of authentic Rivera brand dancing shoes."

"You'll dance beautifully in the shoes you have," Héctor said.

"Mamá made this particular pair."

"Even more beautifully, then. I'll think of your mamá with every step you take."

The trolley came to a halt at a platform, and Héctor jumped off, followed by Coco. They made their way down to a large plaza that was marked by a skeletal version of the same statue that stood in Mariachi Plaza back in the living world. Coco shot the skull of de la Cruz a glare before her papá directed her attention to the stage set up in the middle of the plaza.

"Bienvenidos a todos!" a skeleton woman announced, appearing on stage with a microphone. "Welcome, everyone, to the first annual Dia de Muertos music competition at the newly renamed Plaza de la Cruz! Our winner tonight will have the great honor of playing for the maestro himself at his fiesta tonight!"

The crowd cheered. Héctor and Coco slipped along the edge of the crowd to the backstage area, where sign ups for the competition were still going on. They registered just as the first band was taking the stage.

"Name of your band?" the stagehand asked.

"Oh...uh...los...Zapateros?" Coco offered.

Héctor stifled a chuckle as the stagehand raised a brow ridge at her. "Los Zapateros it is," the man said, writing the name down on his clipboard.

"Los Zapateros?" Héctor repeated. "Really?"

Coco shrugged. "It was all I could come up with in the moment."

"Well...it works. Your mamá was able to start up her business, then? She was so excited about it when she pitched the idea to me. I couldn't wait to help her reach for her dream. I have to admit, I've never seen anyone so excited about learning to make shoes."

"Well, she achieved her dream," Coco assured him. "She started the zapateria. And it's flourishing."

"I can't wait to see it." Héctor stared off into space for a moment, imagining what the shoe shop must look like. He broke from his trance quickly, shifted the guitar up and turned back to Coco. "So what song should we play?"

"Definitely _not_ 'Remember Me,'" Coco declared, glaring as a man with a ukelele walked by, singing off key and plucking out a very rough melody of the song.

"Ugh, that song has been butchered enough for a lifetime," Héctor agreed. As if to prove his point, several other competitors began practicing their own poor renditions of the song, including a man playing on crystal water glasses.

"What about a song you wrote to dance with Mamá?" Coco suggested.

"Epa! Now there's an idea!" Héctor said. "How about 'Un Poco Loco?'"

"I can't really remember how that one goes," Coco admitted. "I'll just follow your lead."

"In that case, let me give you a refresher on the lyrics. Um...I don't suppose you have any spare leather I could use for a strap?"

Coco fished around in her apron pocket, producing a single strap of leather that might be just the right length for the guitar. She handed it to her father, who worked on securing it to the instrument as he quietly ran through the song for her. Coco found herself bobbing her head along with the beat, the lyrics slowly working their way to the forefront of her memory.

The leather strip turned out to be a bit too long, leaving a tail hanging from the end of the guitar. But Héctor didn't seem to mind. It held the guitar to his body, freeing him to move around stage as he pleased. Nearby, the stagehand directed a band up onto the stage, then turned to Héctor and Coco.

"You two are on standby!" he called.

Suddenly, Coco felt nervous. She watched as the leader of the band introduced his group, then signaled them to strike up a powerful beat with a strong, loud melody. The crowd immediately responded to the music with excitement. Once their song was finished, Coco would suddenly find herself out on stage in front of a crowd of strangers, exercising a skill she'd been prevented from perfecting since she was a toddler. She swallowed hard and began to pace.

"You doing okay, mija?" Héctor asked.

"I don't know," Coco admitted. "I just...I've never performed before."

Héctor set the guitar down for a moment and approached her, snapping his fingers to get her attention. "Hey, hey, hey, Coco, look at me. Come here." He gestured for her to take a seat on a box, while he pulled up another box and sat down. "Okay, getting rid of stage fright: Lesson one. First, if you're going to perform, then you've got to perform! Put your whole heart into it! Shake off those nerves, like this." He gave an exaggerated shudder, shaking out his hands and even tossing his head up and down.

Coco followed suit as best she could. She felt a bit childish, but if it worked for her papá, there was no reason it couldn't work for her.

"That's it!" Héctor encouraged. "Now, give me your best grito."

Coco could feel her face flush. "Grito?"

"Come on, yell! Belt it out! Just like we used to in the meadow by the river."

"Papá, I haven't done a grito since...well, since before you left."

"So you're a bit rusty. That's alright. Just show me what you've got!"

Coco was suddenly glad for her calavera paint. She was sure her face was bright red underneath it. She was never the loudest person in the world, even when she was angry. But she tried to push her timidity aside and comply with her papá's advice.

"Ahaaaa...aeeeiiii...ay-yai-yai!" she croaked out, her nerves getting the better of her not even halfway through her yell.

Héctor winced. Nearby, Pepita looked up from licking her leg, startled by the sudden, strange noise.

"Ah...good," Héctor said hesitantly. "We'll...work on that."

Coco buried her face in her hands, hunching her shoulders much like Júlio did when he was embarrassed.

"Hey, I have one more bit of advice," Héctor said, placing a hand on Coco's shoulder. "Don't focus on the audience. Focus instead on someone you love. Sing to them. Just to them."

Coco glanced up at him, hope returning to her face.

"Los Zapateros!" the stagehand called "You're on now!"

Héctor grabbed the guitar and led Coco on stage. "Remember to grab their attention," he encouraged her. "Don't let it go!"

Coco stood nervously to the side as Héctor confidently stepped up to the mic. Instead of following his own advice of grabbing the audience's attention, he glanced worriedly back at Coco, hoping her nerves wouldn't make her freeze. He heard an audience member cough awkwardly, and somewhere in the back, a heckler shouted for the return of one of the more unusual contestants. Héctor turned his attention back to his audience. The only way to help Coco keep from freezing was to actually start the song.

He smiled broadly at his audience before belting a grito directly into the mic, drawing some cheers and return gritos.

Upon hearing the sound, Coco shook herself out of her shock. She had a dance to perform. She had to do this for her papá.

Héctor dramatically strummed the guitar and plucked out the opening notes to "Un Poco Loco." He pictured the last time he played it for Imelda, imagining her dancing to the opening beat.

"What color is the sky, ay mi amor, mi amor! You tell me that it's red, ay mi amor, mi amor!"

Héctor glanced over at Coco, who was silently pleading with her eyes for help. He gave her a wink and began to move in step to the beat of the song.

"Where should I put my shoes, ay mi amor, mi amor! You say, 'Put them on your head!' Ay mi amor, mi amor!" he gave a twirl, turning to face Coco, who smiled back, still nervous, and began to follow his movements.

As Héctor continued to sing and dance, he noted with relief that Coco was finally starting to get into the music. Actually, so was he. It had been too long since he'd genuinely enjoyed playing his songs.

"You make me un poco loco, un poquitititito loco! The way you keep me guessing, I'm nodding and I'm yessing! I'll count it as a blessing...that I'm only un poco loco!"

Coco followed Héctor's motions at first, relaxing into the rhythm. She tuned the audience out, focusing only on this dance with her papá. She imagined Júlio right alongside her, his feet in perfect sync with her own. Soon her mamá and hijas were added to her mental image. _Perform for those you love,_ she thought. _Perform for your family._ As the music continued, Coco began moving of her own accord, tapping her feet and twirling dramatically, her skirt flaring out.

As Héctor played an interlude, he became distracted watching the joy on his daughter's face. He automatically kept up the rhythm of his own feet, which Coco soon noticed.

"Not bad for a dead guy!" she teased.

"Not so bad yourself, gordita!" Héctor shot back, grinning. "Eso!"

Coco playfully stuck her tongue out at him as she danced past.

"Hey, not fair!" Héctor half-heartedly griped. "I don't have a tongue!"

"Sing, Papá!" Coco prompted. "Don't let go of the audience, remember?"

Oh, right, the audience. Héctor turned his attention back to the second verse.

"The loco that you make me is just un poco crazy! The sense that you're not making..."

"The liberties you're taking!" Coco picked up.

They sang the remainder of the song together, still dancing around one another in sync.

"Leave my cabeza shaking! I'm just un poco loco!"

"Let me hear your grito!" Héctor shouted into the mic, following it up with a grito of his own.

Coco was full of adrenaline now, her stage fright seemingly a distant memory. She joined her papá at the mic, the two of them screaming their most enthusiastic gritos. The audience joined in, energized by the performance.

Pepita, however, was less impressed. She sat just off stage, covering her ears in irritation at the high pitched sounds of her humans that were being emitted from the speakers around her.

Héctor and Coco twirled around the mic, singing the final notes of the song together. They ended with a flourish, Coco giving off one last grito before striking a dramatic pose alongside Héctor.

The crowd went wild.

Coco had to lean down to catch her breath, her hands on her knees. She didn't get to stay like that for long, however, as her papá swung the guitar onto his back so he could scoop her up into a hug.

"We did good! You did good! I'm proud of you!"

As they broke the embrace, Coco felt a lump rise in her throat. "I've been waiting far too long to dance with you again, Papá," she said.

"Same here," Héctor said, cupping her cheek with his hand.

Despite the crowd's enthusiastic chants of, "Otra! Otra! Otra!" the emcee ushered Héctor and Coco off stage to await the results.

Backstage, the two performers were congratulated by most of the other competitors, including the popular band that had played right before them.

"You were on fire tonight!"

"Way to go!"

"If we have to lose, it'd better be to you two!"

Héctor and Coco soaked in the praise. Soon the mic gave a feedback screech as the emcee adjusted it for the announcement of the winners.

"And tonight's winner...and recipient of an exclusive invitation to la Casa de la Cruz...is..."

A hush fell over the crowd. Coco watched with baited breath, reaching down to pet Pepita, who had brushed up against her legs.

"Los Zapateros!" the emcee cried.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as the other contestants ushered Héctor and Coco back on stage. The two of them gave one another bewildered looks as they accepted their award and invitation. Had they really just pulled that off?

Thankfully for Coco, the hype died down quickly after that as she and Héctor were directed to a trolley that would take them up to de la Cruz's tower. Héctor sat with the guitar on his lap, still humming "Un Poco Loco," a contented smile on his face, Pepita curled up next to him. Coco smiled at him, happy that he seemed to have rekindled his love for music. She then looked down at the invitation in her hand. Her smile faded as she remembered her task. It was immediately before her now. Soon she would be right in the den of her father's killer.

Coco glanced out the trolley window, watching the towers of the city flash by. If she could get up on a stage in front of hundreds of strangers with no formal training in either dance or performing, getting in and out of de la Cruz's house with the damning evidence she required should be a breeze.

At least, she hoped it would be.

* * *

 **AN:** Next chapter is when things start to get intense. Héctor's PTSD is going to come home to roost. Seat belts, everyone!

Remember to log in so I can respond to your reviews! They really are what keep me motivated to finish this.


	9. The Fiesta

**AN:** I feel the need to post a trigger warning at the start of this chapter, which will apply for the next two chapters as well. I myself have no experience with PTSD or with loved ones who suffer from it, so my portrayal of it here is based on a bit of research that I've done on how others experience PTSD flashbacks. For anyone who has been in a remotely similar situation to what I'm putting Héctor through in this story, the following chapters could be potentially difficult to read. We won't hear Héctor's full story until chapter 10, so the flashback sequences in this chapter will be kept relatively vague. For my readers who do have experience dealing with PTSD, this chapter serves as an invitation to give me advice on how to keep the narrative realistic while also remaining compassionate and sensitive. I can use all the advice, insight and wisdom I can get as I write chapter 10. Thank you, and on with the story!

* * *

Chapter 9: The Fiesta

Upon arriving at the entry to de la Cruz's tower, Coco and Héctor were ushered into a long line behind dozens of notable figures. Coco recognized a few artists, politicians and actors. Everyone chattered excitedly about meeting the "legendary Ernesto de la Cruz." She rolled her eyes. After tonight, Ernesto would still be legendary, alright, but for entirely different reasons.

"Bleh, you'd think he was one of the apostles of Christ the way they carry on about him," Héctor whispered, drawing a giggle from Coco.

"Remember, Papá, we have to at least pretend to be as excited as everyone else to meet him," she scolded.

"Ah, claro, you're right," Héctor conceded. "Well, we both liked him at one point. We just have to tap into that. If we can."

Coco's face fell. "I don't remember him at all," she admitted.

"Not at all? You don't even remember calling him Tio Nesto, or clinging to his leg while he dragged you around, begging me to pluck you off of him?"

Coco thought she saw a ghost of a smile on her papá's face as he recalled happier memories from before the betrayal. She wanted to confirm them, but her earliest childhood memory, aside from lullabies with her papá, was from well after Héctor's disappearance. She shook her head.

"Mamá told me once that when very young children experience something traumatic, they're able to block it from their memories. It may or may not subconsciously affect them later in life."

Héctor gave a bit of a smirk. "I envy young children," he said. "I'm glad you don't remember it, Coco. It was...not something I like to relive. I would hate to think that you are reliving it sometimes too."

Coco chose not to comment on that, figuring it was better, for the moment, to just focus on the task at hand. Eventually the two of them made it to the front of the line and presented their invitation.

"Oh, the contest winners!" the security guard greeted enthusiastically. He pulled back the chain, allowing them to access the shuttle that would carry them up to the mansion. "Enjoy the party, amigos!" the guard called with sincerity.

"So far, so good," Coco said as they boarded the shuttle, the doors barely missing Pepita's tail as she scrambled after her humans. "De la Cruz obviously hasn't put any kind of alert or bulletin out on you."

"I've avoided him since he arrived," Héctor said. "Honestly, I could've gone the rest of my afterlife without ever going near him again."

"We don't have to go near him. All we have to do is avoid the areas where the crowd is the densest. De la Cruz will surely be in the middle of them."

"This whole crowd is dense," Héctor joked. "They're de la Cruz fans, after all."

Coco snickered. "Once we're in his house," she continued, "we just need to find his office or bedroom, or even a trophy room. Any place he might be keeping that songbook."

Héctor nodded. "The moment we have the songbook, I'm sending you home." He put a hand to his jacket pocket in emphasis. "No arguments."

"You promised to tell me your story, remember?" Coco said. "If nothing else, you can give us a clue as to where to look for your body."

Héctor sighed. "Right. Okay, I'll give you the rundown of how I died, tell you where to start looking, then send you home. Deal?"

"Deal."

The shuttle ground to a halt at the top of the tower, and the doors opened, allowing the party goers to spill out. Coco picked up Pepita and carried her over to a potted plant. "We need you to stay out here and wait for us, Pepita," she instructed. "We'll lose you too easily in this crowd."

Pepita gave a worried meow, prompting Coco to scratch her under the chin.

"We'll be alright, girl," she promised. "We'll be in and out. No problems."

Héctor felt his non-existent gut do flips as he registered the fact that he was in closer proximity to his killer than he had been in 21 years. With his still-living daughter in tow. He glanced nervously at her. Coco's jaw was set, and she wore a determined look on her face. She didn't appear at all nervous. Behind them, Pepita watched with a worried stare. Héctor couldn't help but feel the cat had better judgment right now than either of her humans.

Slipping in among the crowd was easy enough. But the house was a maze, and finding their way around would not be easy. As the crowd flowed, they found themselves carried along until they ended up in a huge ballroom that had a pool in the middle. Mingled with the smell of alcohol and marigold was the scent of new construction and paint. The room had only recently been completed. Héctor snorted in disgust when he noticed that the pool was shaped and decorated like a guitar; _his_ guitar. A live mariachi band played in one corner of the room.

Coco tugged on Héctor's jacket sleeve and pulled him toward a hallway. They ducked into what appeared to be some sort of closet or storage room.

"I have an idea," Coco said, rummaging through a basket. She produced two uniforms, clearly for servants. "If we wear these, we might be able to move around unnoticed."

"Good thinking, mija," Héctor said.

They quickly put the uniforms on over their clothes and slipped out of the room. Héctor covered Cheech's guitar in linens, hoping it would remain unnoticed for the night. "Sorry, old friend," he said. "I'll be back for you."

Skirting and cutting through the crowd became much easier, so long as Héctor and Coco acted like they were genuine employed staff. They even complied with some important guests' requests to take or fetch drinks, using the errands to advance across the room toward a large staircase that they guessed must lead to living quarters.

Out of the corner of her eye, Coco caught a glimpse of their host, standing on one end of the pool, laughing as he conversed with other celebrities. She sent a fierce glare his way. The man was decked out in a sparkling white charro suit and enormous matching sombrero that very nearly obscured his face, but that profile and that chin were unmistakable.

"Keep up, mija!" Héctor called. "What's keeping you?"

"Just scouting the opposition," Coco said.

Héctor followed her gaze—and his breath hitched. De la Cruz seemed to be looking straight at him, glaring hatefully. He advanced toward Héctor, his lips turning into a sneer. He rolled up his sleeves as Héctor tried to step back. He was closing the distance between them, hands extended, nails ready to dig into Héctor's flesh. Héctor found his legs unresponsive. He opened his mouth to plead with Ernesto, or at least to scream, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate. Someone called to him. It was Coco!

"Papá! Papá!"

Héctor remained glued to his spot as Ernesto reached him, grabbing him not by the throat, but by the shoulders.

"Papá!" Coco's voice called again, from right in front of him. "Are you alright?"

Ernesto's living face vanished as Héctor shook himself from his trance. Coco's face was now before him, and Ernesto remained across the room, still a skeleton, and still oblivious to their presence. Coco had her hands firmly around his upper arms, concern etched on her face.

Héctor tried to steady his breathing, giving Coco a shaky smile. "S-si...I'm...I'm fine," he lied. "Just...I was...I'm alright now, mija." He turned to continue up the stairs. "Let's just get on with this so we can get out of here."

Coco's worried gaze followed him as he led the way upstairs. She sped up to keep up with him. Whatever de la Cruz had done to him, it had clearly left a mark on his soul. Coco felt her hatred for de la Cruz burn hotter than ever. She was bound and determined to destroy the man.

* * *

They explored the upper stories for what seemed like hours, trying to dodge guests where possible, and keeping up their facade as servants when necessary. They eventually found de la Cruz's bedroom, but it was immaculate. Clearly its sole purpose was for sleeping. Ernesto kept nothing but his clothes and toiletries in there, choosing to sleep beneath a ridiculously sized oil painting of himself. Héctor shuddered, avoiding looking at it.

Coco noted four small, ornate dog beds on one end of the room, each embroidered with the names of de la Cruz's beloved pets. One bed was occupied, but the chihuahua alebrije was sound asleep, unaware of the intruders.

"We've gotta beware of little dogs," Coco said. "They could alert de la Cruz to us if we encounter them."

Héctor nodded. "Little ankle biters," he muttered. "Never did understand why Ernesto loved the tonto things so much."

They slipped out of the room to continue their search.

Soon they found what appeared to be a trophy room. Servants moved in and out, placing and arranging offerings brought from the many ofrendas in the living world. This being de la Cruz's first Dia de los Muertos, the trophy room was almost bare, despite the enormous pile of offerings that was building up. Clearly de la Cruz expected to fill this room over the next several years. Guests oohed and ahhed at the offerings.

Coco and Héctor found a room off to the side to hide, deciding to wait until there were no more guests or servants. Once alone, they'd dig through the pile, searching for the songbook. Surely it was one of the many offerings left to de la Cruz that night.

* * *

It took nearly two hours for the servants and guests to trickle out, the lights dimming. Héctor and Coco dared not to speak during the wait, for fear of being caught, instead studying each offering as it was brought in and inventoried.

One of the last servants to bring in an offering carried a silver plate with some sort of flat, reddish object. The servant carrying it wore gloves, and when the servant doing inventory saw the object, he produced a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on before accepting the tray.

Héctor snapped three times and gestured to the book. Coco nodded. That was what they were looking for.

The songbook was reverently placed on a pillow designated just for it, and a glass dome was placed over it.

A few minutes later, the room was dark and empty, save for two hidden figures. Héctor and Coco slipped out of the side room, ditching their uniforms. They hurried over to the display case holding the songbook. Coco lifted the glass dome off and lifted the cover on the songbook.

The smell of dust, paper and leather hit Héctor's nasal passage, and he froze as memories came crashing down on him. He scarcely heard Coco's commentary as she flipped through the book.

"Every song seems to still be here," she said. "I haven't come across any torn pages." She turned to her father. "This is perfect! I'll take this back home and...Papá?"

Héctor's face was clearly distressed. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and he seemed to be staring at nothing.

"Papá, it's alright," Coco tried to assure him, picking up the book. "We have your songbook, and we can finally bring de la Cruz to justice. It's here, see? We have it!"

She placed a gentle hand on his arm as she held the book up to show him. His eyes snapped down to it and, to Coco's shock, he yelped and slapped it out of her hand, backpedaling.

"No more, Ernesto!" he cried loudly, sinking to the floor, shielding his face with his arms. "I can't write anymore! Please, stop! Let me go home!"

Coco ran to him, trying to pull his arms down. "Papá! Papá, it's me! It's Coco! Please, Papá, look at me!"

Héctor was hyperventilating, but he met Coco's gaze. Coco wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

"It's okay, Papá," she soothed. "You're with me."

Héctor exhaled shakily. "I-I'm sorry, mija," he said with a sob. "I thought...that hasn't happened in so long. I thought I was over it."

"Over what, Papá?" Coco asked. "This has happened to you before?"

Héctor was about to answer when he was stopped by a chorus of high pitched yapping and growling. Three chihuahua alebrijes ran into the room and encircled the duo, fiercely barking.

Coco's heart sank as the dogs were followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps. A moment later, Ernesto de la Cruz stepped into the room, holding a fourth chihuahua and flanked by two large security guards.

"What is the meaning of this?" de la Cruz said. "I had the guests sent across town for my Sunrise Spectacular. What are you two still doing here?" He followed the yapping of one of his dogs, who pawed the fallen songbook. He turned his glare back to the intruders. "Were you attempting to steal from me?"

Héctor whimpered, frozen in place as another flashback began to take control. Coco noticed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay, Papá," she assured him.

The gesture seemed to work. Héctor released his breath and nodded to Coco.

Coco stood. "We weren't taking anything that belongs to you," she told de la Cruz boldly.

De la Cruz approached her. "And I suppose you were just admiring the songbook," he sneered.

"It's _not_ yours," Coco said through clenched teeth.

De la Cruz gave her a bemused smirk. "Oh? And just whose did you think it was, chica?"

Héctor gathered his courage and stood. It was high time he faced de la Cruz. "You and I both know that songbook has always belonged to me, Ernesto," he spat.

Recognition dawned on de la Cruz's face. "Héctor?" he said with incredulity.

Emboldened, Héctor smirked. "Remember me?"

De la Cruz's astonishment melted into that look of hatred Héctor had recalled so well earlier that night on the staircase. It almost broke Héctor's resolve, but he turned his gaze to Coco, assuring himself that she was still there with him.

"So you've returned to haunt me yet again, old friend," de la Cruz said, handing off his alebrije to a guard.

"Oh, I've been haunting you?" Héctor said in mock astonishment. "Good! After what you did to me...after what you did to my family...you deserve so much worse!"

Even though de la Cruz was slightly shorter than Héctor, Héctor found himself involuntarily shrinking beneath de la Cruz's glare as the other man advanced on him, causing him to take a step back.

"I had to do what it took to seize my moment!" de la Cruz sneered. "You were the one holding me back!"

"And we're about to set you back even more," Coco called.

De la Cruz looked up. Coco stood by the doorway, waving the songbook, grinning.

"Let's go, Papá!" she said, spinning on her heel and dashing out of the room.

Héctor took advantage of de la Cruz's momentary shock, slipping around him and beating a hasty retreat out of the room, four chihuahuas dutifully chasing after him.

De la Cruz shook himself out of his stupor. "After them!" he barked, his guard scrambling to comply.

Héctor caught up to Coco as they raced down the stairs to the ground floor, easily outpacing the alebrijes as they tumbled down the stairs, their short legs tripping them up.

"So what's the plan now?" Héctor asked.

"Umm..."

"You don't have a plan?!"

"Hey, I'm making this up as I go!"

Héctor brought his hand to his face in exasperation. "Okay, let's just focus on getting back outside to the cat. If we can just...get out of this mansion and find a place to hide, I can give you that blessing. Though I have no idea how to send your cat home with you."

"I'm not leaving without that story, Papá," Coco reminded him.

"Socorro, this is a matter of life and death!" Héctor said.

Coco winced. She couldn't recall a moment in her life when her papá called her Socorro, but she suspected that he only did it when he was especially upset and ready to lay down the law. The name hit her like her mamá's chancla. She was about to respond when she heard a shout. They were just about on the ground level in the ballroom, but their way was blocked by three more security guards. The two of them skidded to a halt.

"Don't let them escape!" de la Cruz called from above them, he and the other two guards now less than a story above them.

"Follow my lead," Héctor said before jumping onto the railing and sliding down.

Coco followed suit. Héctor jumped at the last moment, landing in a tuck-and-roll just beyond the guards and leaping to his feet. Coco tried the same trick, but a guard reached out and grabbed her heel, pulling off her boot as she continued on her trajectory.

Coco yelped as she landed hard, dropping the songbook as she tumbled right into the pool. She barely had time to register her papá calling her name before she went underwater.

Her head broke the surface just a moment later, but before she could make her own way to the edge and climb out, four rough, bony hands reached down and hauled her out, dropping her in front of de la Cruz. She glared up at him, but to her surprise, she saw only shock on his face.

"You...you're...alive?" de la Cruz stammered.

Coco suddenly became aware of the fact that her makeup had been washed off. Her heart sank into her gut.

"Coco!" Héctor cried, running to her side. He whipped out the marigold petal. "We're out of time! Coco, I give you my bless—"

Before he could finish, de la Cruz grabbed his arm and plucked the petal out of his hand, crushing it in his own grip. He hauled Héctor to his feet and pulled his face close.

"You were a fool to return, Héctor," he sneered. "And with a _living_ woman! What was your plan? To ruin my reputation in the land of the living? Well, it won't happen!" He threw Héctor aside and knelt in front of Coco. "And you, señorita, were an even greater fool for going along with him."

"It was my idea in the first place," Coco confessed. "I _will_ get justice for my papá!"

De la Cruz's eyes widened just for a moment, then narrowed as he grinned malevolently at her, finally recognizing her. "Baby Coco, all grown up," he cooed mockingly.

He stood and strode over to Héctor, picking up the songbook along the way. As he did so, a small scrap of paper fell out of the pages, fluttering to the ground. Coco caught a glimpse of it from where she knelt and recognized the image on it. It was the torn piece of her family portrait! Her papá's face!

De la Cruz tucked the songbook into his jacket pocket as he stood over Héctor. "Well, amigo, all you wanted was to be reunited with your little brat," he said. "So I'm going to give you exactly what you want. You'll never have to be apart from her, from now until the day you're forgotten."

Héctor's eyes widened. "Ernesto, please! She's alive! She needs to go home!"

"Too late, old friend," de la Cruz growled. "She'll just have to learn to see the cenote in the backyard as home." He glanced back at Coco, taking notice of her skeletal hands and legs. "Besides, from the look of things, she'll be one of us sooner rather than later anyway." He gestured to his guards. "Take them away."

Coco attempted to reach for and grab the torn piece of the photo before the guards hauled her off, but de la Cruz intercepted, stepping on the scrap of paper before picking it up. He gave it a brief glance and tucked it into his pocket alongside the songbook. He smirked at Coco.

"What need do you have for family photos in the Land of the Dead?" he mocked.

As they were hauled off, Coco glowered at de la Cruz. No longer could she hold back the curses that burned on her tongue, spitting them all out with all the hate and venom she could muster. She was still screaming her tirade as she and Héctor were dragged out through a side door.

* * *

Back at her post outside the front of the mansion, Pepita could sense that something was very wrong. Her humans were taking too long to return. She jumped down from her perch and sniffed the ground. Their scent was hard to pick out amongst all the others, but eventually she caught it. She bounded toward the house.


	10. The Mariachi and the Monster Part 1

Chapter 10: The Mariachi and the Monster Part 1

Coco struggled against her captors as they dragged her out of the tower and down to a pit a good three fútbol field lengths away. They heaved Héctor in first, followed immediately by Coco. The two of them screamed as they plummeted into the depths of the pit.

Coco found herself suddenly underwater. She surfaced quickly and looked around. "Papá!" she cried. She heard a grunt come from a rocky surface and swam toward it, pulling herself up onto dry land. As she did so, she saw Héctor struggling to reassemble himself. She plucked up bones and carried them toward Héctor's skull.

Héctor pulled himself back together expertly, wincing when he called his left tibia back. The bone didn't put itself back up against the fibula, and as Héctor picked it up, he saw that it was cracked almost completely in half. He yelped as he set the bone down again, still very much able to feel the injury.

Coco let out a choking sob. She pulled the ribbons that held her braids loose and set to work on the tibia, trying very gently to set and bind it. Héctor hissed in pain, but let her work.

"I'm sorry, Papá," Coco said, tears starting to flow. "I was a fool to get you into this. I should've just gone home like you wanted me to. All I was thinking about was revenge. I got myself in over my head, I neglected my duties as a wife and mother..." She was sobbing now, and put down the tibia, unable to see her work through her tears, and clenched her skeletal hands, which now had barely any trace of flesh still glowing around them. Had she pulled back her sweater, she would've seen that the transformation had made its way to her shoulders and was creeping up her torso.

Héctor wrapped Coco in his arms and pulled her close. "It's okay, mija," he soothed.

"I'll never be able to go home," Coco continued to weep. "They'll never know what happened. My girls will grow up without their mamá." She turned and buried her face in Héctor's jacket. "Mamá was right. And now I'll never see them again."

"It's okay," Héctor continued to soothe, at a loss for any other words. He felt just as helpless, unable to save himself or Coco. He hugged Coco tighter, silently cursing himself for failing yet again to protect his family. "It's my fault too," he said after several minutes. "If it weren't for me, those tonto dogs never would've found us. I thought...I was over it enough that I could..." He shuddered involuntarily. "I'm sorry, mija."

Coco looked up at him. "Papá...please tell me what happened. Not for me. Not so I can have some clue to bring you home. Do it for yourself. You...you haven't had anyone to talk to about this, have you?"

He hadn't. Not since declining such counseling services upon his death. "Coco, mija, you...you don't want to hear that story."

"No, not after what I've seen those memories do to you," Coco admitted. "But you need to talk it out. Please, Papá. I...I need to understand. If there's anything I can do to help you, even if it's just listening...please let me."

Héctor sighed in resignation. He couldn't deny that Coco was right. As much as he hated the idea of reliving those memories at all, especially for Coco, he had to do it.

"It all started in the summer of 1921," he began. "Ernesto had this idea to take our mariachi show on tour around Mexico..."

* * *

 _21 years earlier..._

"But Héctor, this is the golden opportunity we've been seeking!"

Héctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Ernesto, any other time I would love to travel across Mexico with you, bringing people together with our music. But...I'm needed at home. Imelda has this dream she would like me to help her with, and Coco...she's too young to be without her papá."

"And what of your songs?" Ernesto pressed. "You said yourself that you have been fighting writer's block for weeks. This tour would be the perfect opportunity to seek inspiration from around Mexico. The songs we have now, everyone loves. How much more will they love the songs we write between here and our inevitable discovery?"

Héctor had to admit that the prospect was tempting. He'd always been the type who loved to explore. Anything and everything could be an inspiration to him, and he was bound to find something to write about on the road, blazing a new trail with his best friend who, before Héctor was married, had been his only family since they were children. But he also couldn't deny that his true muses were right here at home. He had written far more songs for Imelda and Coco in the short time they had been part of his life than at any point since he had first picked up a pencil and learned to write out the numerous rhymes and dreams tumbling about his vivid imagination. And the idea of leaving them for months at a time made him queasy. Especially since Coco was still so young.

"Maybe when Coco is a little older we can all take a tour of Mexico," Héctor suggested.

"Are you loco?" Ernesto barked. "Our moment is now! We must seize it!"

Héctor fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ernesto could be so melodramatic at times. Héctor had to wonder why his friend didn't just go into acting. Frankly, Ernesto was wasted as a mariachi. His passion lay not so much in the music but in the desire to play to a crowd. He could charm the socks off of just about anyone he met (excepting, of course, Imelda), and once he slipped into a particular role, he milked that character for all it was worth. He'd taught Héctor to do the same as part of their many schemes to survive on the streets as penniless orphans. But to Héctor, acting was a job that he, honestly, was glad he didn't have to perform anymore. Nowadays, he put his acting chops to work trying to make Coco laugh.

"My mind is made up, Ernesto," Héctor said firmly. "But I won't stop you from going on tour if that's what you really want. I'll write you. Maybe send some new songs. Don't let my family commitment stop you from 'seizing your moment.'"

Ernesto gave a frustrated growl. "Try to see reason, Héctor! I can't do this without your songs! I can't do it without you!"

"Whatever happened to the confident hermano who taught me how to overcome stage fright?" Héctor asked with an amused grin. "You'll be fine. I have every confidence in you. Go, live your dream. I've already got mine."

"Oh, so it's _your_ dream now, is it? I thought you said it was your wife's."

"My dream is to help her live her dream."

Ernesto groaned. "That woman has got you whipped, hermanito."

Now Héctor did roll his eyes. He prepared a sharp retort, but it died on his tongue and instead turned into a sly grin as another thought came to mind. "And how do you know what happens in our bedroom?" He gave Ernesto a wink. The other man blanched.

" _Not_ a mental image I wanted!"

Héctor laughed, reaching over to clap Ernesto on the shoulder. "Cheer up, hermano! I know that whatever you reach for, you can achieve. You have the drive. You have the talent. Me, I'm happy where I'm at. Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised to help Imelda with supper by _not_ helping her with supper. So I'm going to distract Coco instead." He turned to leave Ernesto's small apartment. As he walked out the door, Héctor glanced back over his shoulder to reiterate, "Go seize your moment, amigo," before disappearing into the street, leaving Ernesto to stew over being rejected.

* * *

For several weeks, Ernesto didn't bring up the tour again. In fact, he barely spoke to Héctor at all, causing the younger man some concern. Héctor hated the idea of his friend being so distant from him. And it seemed as though lately they'd been slowly drifting apart. It didn't help that Ernesto had returned from the war an altogether quieter, more serious man, his fun loving side brought out only by a crowd of admirers. Nor did it help that at the time, Héctor had been focused on wooing Imelda, and once he succeeded (to the shock of everyone in Santa Cecilia, and no one more so than Ernesto), most of his time was spent with her. Ernesto had agreed to be the best man at their wedding, and begrudgingly accepted the title of godfather to little Socorro Rivera. But his friendship with Héctor never attained the same level of trust and camaraderie as it had before the revolution. Despite Héctor's best efforts to nurture his friendship with his surrogate hermano, performing with him whenever the opportunity arose, incorporating him into family activities as much as Imelda would allow, and encouraging Coco to refer to him as her tio, Héctor seemed to be losing Ernesto.

"It's best to give him some space," Imelda suggested one evening as the two lay in bed. "Let him pout for a while. He'll come around and be back to his obnoxious self eventually."

There was an edge to her voice. Héctor knew Imelda never quite trusted Ernesto, and he could tell that she didn't miss the man coming around their home. It was time to change the subject.

"I suppose you're right, mi amor. While he cools off, let's just focus on this dream of yours. What business do you want to start? The twins are voting for an invention company."

"Once they're of age, they can go and commit suicide on their own stupidity all they want," Imelda muttered. "Just not on my property."

Héctor chuckled. "Whatever you choose, you know we'll all back you 100%."

"I was thinking shoes."

"Shoes?"

"Si, shoes. We should make shoes."

"Shoes," Héctor repeated, turning the idea over in his mind. "That's very...practical of you. You sure you don't want to do something like...oh, I don't know...candy? Toys? Or even fireworks! If you started a fireworks business, Ernesto would certainly love it!"

Imelda snorted. "I wasn't aware all this was to impress Ernesto," she said. "Shoes are practical, as you said. People are always in need of them, and they keep one grounded. Besides, that a woman can't have shoes that are both comfortable and fashionable is a crime against nature."

Héctor chuckled. "Okay, you have a point, diosa. Shoes it is." He leaned over to kiss her. "Good night, mi amor."

Imelda smiled as Héctor settled in, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. It wasn't long before the two drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning started as usual for the family. Oscar and Felipe had to be dragged out of bed by Imelda, as usual, so they could get to their own jobs on time. Imelda was planning on speaking to the local shoemaker that day about the possibility of taking on apprentices. Héctor was dressed in his mariachi costume, prepared to join Ernesto at a performance for a quinceañera. The mayor's daughter was a spoiled little brat that Héctor couldn't stand, but her father had promised Héctor and Ernesto a handsome sum for performing their original songs at the party. It was an affair that had been booked for months, and the celebration would likely last long into the night.

Coco sat at the table, finishing her breakfast. "Can I go with you, Papá?" she asked around a mouthful of huevos.

Héctor tucked his worn songbook into his guitar case, next to his most prized material possession, the gleaming white skull guitar Imelda had gifted him for their wedding. He turned to Coco. "I'm afraid not, princesa. This party is too big and too loud for a little girl. And it's gonna go late. You're gonna help your mamá start learning how to make shoes today."

Coco gave a pout. "But if the party is gonna go late, you won't be home in time to sing our special song."

Héctor walked over to the table and leaned down to Coco's level, pressing his forehead gently against hers. "Tell you what, mija, the moment I get home, no matter how late it is, I'll come to your room and play our song for you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Imelda set a plate down in front of Héctor. "Don't run off on an empty stomach, mi amor," she instructed. "Especially if you have any intention of drinking later, which I know will be unavoidable at _that_ particular fiesta."

Héctor smiled and leaned over to kiss her. "That's my beautiful wife, always looking out for me."

"Well, someone has to," she teased.

A sudden, loud bang jolted everyone in the room. They spun around to see that the front door had been kicked in. There, standing in the doorway, was a disheveled, seething Ernesto de la Cruz.

"Ernesto!" Imelda snarled, rage to match Ernesto's welling up in her. "What on earth do you think you're doing?!"

Héctor put an arm out, partially to calm Imelda, and partially to block her from launching herself at the intruder, boot in hand. He gave his friend a shaky smile.

"Ernesto, hermano! You haven't been around in weeks! I'm glad to see you!"

"Don't play games with me, Héctor!" Ernesto spat. "You've let that shrew of yours call the shots for too long! Well, now it's my turn. Our train leaves in half an hour, and you _will_ be on it! We are going to seize our moment!"

Héctor's expression darkened when Ernesto called Imelda "shrew." He marched up to Ernesto, easily getting into the slightly shorter man's face. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell of tequila on Ernesto's breath.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, amigo, but I do _not_ appreciate you bursting into my home to insult my family. I suggest you go home and get yourself a cup of coffee, and we can talk about this on the way to the quinceañera, once you're sober."

Ernesto gave a snort of laughter. "Oh, so you choose now, of all times, to grow a pair? Well, it's a little late, _hermano_." He spat the familial term they'd long used for one another. "We're doing things _my_ way, whether you like it or not!"

"Get out of my house!" Héctor growled.

Ernesto met his threatening gaze with one full of hatred. He grabbed Héctor's jacket, yanking him forward before shoving him backward. Héctor stumbled, his long arms and legs flailing as he tried to regain his balance. Two steps back sent him tumbling over an end table, knocking a family portrait to the ground. The glass shattered, freeing the image of himself, Imelda and a younger Coco from its frame. Héctor landed next to the photo, dazed for a moment. He heard Imelda shout his name, but kept his focus on Ernesto, who advanced toward him menacingly.

"I told you, Héctor, we're playing by my rules now." Ernesto reached behind him and pulled something out from beneath his belt.

Héctor's eyes widened as the light glinted off of a metal object. Ernesto kept the gun on his far side, out of Imelda and Coco's immediate sight.

"So, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Ernesto continued.

"You were told to leave this house!" Imelda screamed, pulling her arm back in preparation to throw her boot at Ernesto's head.

Said cabeza whipped around to her direction, causing Héctor to cry out, "Imelda, no! Get down!"

In the blink of an eye, Ernesto brought up the gun. The firearm barely registered in Imelda's mind as she followed Héctor's instruction and dove for the ground, just as Ernesto pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into the kitchen wall.

Coco screamed in fear and scrambled beneath the table.

Héctor sprang to his feet and jumped onto Ernesto's back, wrapping his long arms around the bulkier man's neck. Ernesto stumbled back, clawing at Héctor's arms.

"Get Coco out of here!" Héctor screamed.

From her spot next to Coco, Imelda nodded and scooped the girl up, rising to make a break for the back door through the kitchen.

It didn't take much for Ernesto to dislodge Héctor, throwing him to the ground again. Ernesto then immediately picked up the end table over which Héctor had tripped earlier and hurled it at Imelda and Coco, causing Imelda to jump and look back. He hauled Héctor to his feet, gun pressed against the younger musician's temple.

"Get back in here, or I'll blow his brains out against the wall!" Ernesto snarled at Imelda.

Héctor pleaded silently with Imelda to just leave him and take Coco somewhere safe. Imelda ignored him, giving Ernesto a slight nod as she brought Coco back to the kitchen table and sat down.

"Good girl," Ernesto said snidely. He then turned back to Héctor. "As for you, if you really love your little family, you won't make this difficult for yourself or them. You will join me on tour. You will write my songs. You will make me famous. Do that, and you, your boss and your pathetic little spawn will get to live. Continue to resist, and I won't hesitate to remove those two...distractions...from your life." He emphasized his point by aiming his gun at Imelda and Coco. The two of them tensed up, Imelda turning Coco to form a barrier between her and the madman.

Héctor nodded. "Fine, I'll go, Ernesto. Just...please put the gun down! Leave my family out of this!"

Ernesto released Héctor, stepping closer to the girls, his gun still trained on them. "No, I think I need to keep you motivated, amigo. Get your guitar and songbook. If we miss our train, the deal is off."

Héctor moved over to his guitar case, assuring the songbook was still in there, and snapped it shut. He picked up the case and made his way over to his family.

"Train, now, Héctor!" Ernesto barked.

"Let me at least say goodbye to my family, for pity's sake!" Héctor begged.

Ernesto rolled his eyes. "Ten seconds."

Héctor set his guitar down and pulled Imelda and Coco into his embrace. Coco was wailing, and tears were streaming down Imelda's face.

"Héctor..." Imelda sobbed. "Please, don't leave me, my love!"

Héctor took a second to place as many kisses on his girls' faces as he could, holding them close. "I will never stop trying to come back to you," he promised. "I will never stop trying to come home. Coco, I will play your song for you every night. Sing for me, mija. Sing every night for me."

"Papá!" Coco cried. "Don't go, Papá!"

"Time's up!" Ernesto snapped.

Héctor gave Coco one last kiss on her head, picked up his guitar, and allowed Ernesto to direct him out the front door.

As they made their way out, Ernesto stepped on a piece of glass from the portrait. He glanced down, then stooped to pick up the picture. He smirked at it, then held it up for Imelda to see. In one swift motion, he ripped the top right corner out, separating Héctor's face from his family. He tucked the torn piece into the front pocket of his charro jacket and flung the remainder of the photo in Imelda's direction.

"He belongs to me now," Ernesto said, turning to direct Héctor outside.

The words sent a shiver down Héctor's spine. He unsuccessfully fought back tears as he heard Coco calling desperately for him.

* * *

 **AN:** This chapter ended up being far longer than I'd intended, so it's been broken into two parts. The trigger warning applies mostly to the next part.

Thank you for your patience as I write this. I've had a busy week, so I've not had much opportunity to sit down and write. On top of that, I've been fighting a nasty cold. Chapter 11 is at least half written and will be up tomorrow night.


	11. The Mariachi and the Monster Part 2

**AN:** The previously posted trigger warning is in full effect here. I've drawn from the autobiography of Richard Wurmbrand for inspiration for this chapter. Especially influential is one of the more powerful quotes from his autobiography. After spending a total of 14 years as a political prisoner in communist Romania, Wurmbrand, a pastor, was asked to define hell. His response was immediate: "Hell is to sit alone in the dark remembering all your past sins."

I place a great deal of value on the meaning of names, and I believe Héctor's name was _very_ carefully chosen. So I've emphasized it in certain contexts in this chapter. This isn't me being repetitive so much as it is me trying to drive the beautiful meaning of Héctor's name home. This will be important to the end of the chapter. Héctor won't go down without a fight.

* * *

Chapter 11: The Mariachi and the Monster Part 2

Héctor was never sure whether he really believed in hell or in purgatory before that point. But he certainly believed in them now.

It didn't take much fussing for Ernesto to smooth his hair into place and put on his most charming smile. He already had his suitcase waiting at the station, instructing Héctor to carry it for him while he kept the gun pressed inconspicuously into Héctor's back.

"Where is your guitar?" Héctor asked.

"Why, you're holding it, my friend," Ernesto replied, his voice sweet yet menacing.

 _Of course I am,_ Héctor thought.

Ernesto waved off Héctor's apprehension with an explanation that this was Héctor's first time on a train, and he was going to be away from his family for a few days. The conductor bought the lie easily. Héctor was suddenly sickened by how easily others were fooled by Ernesto's facade. But then, perhaps Héctor himself had been fooled as well.

They went from town to town, Ernesto disappearing for hours at a time to perform, while Héctor remained locked in whatever dingy hotel room they rented. Ernesto performed Héctor's songs with impunity, claiming them as his own—including the lullaby that Héctor had reserved for Coco. While Ernesto played, Héctor was instructed to write.

And write he did. Héctor saved every scrap of paper he could get away with, writing notes and letters to his family. If nothing else, he would leave them a paper trail to find him. _If_ he could smuggle them to a post office. Moving from the hotel to the train station was his best chance, especially since the larger towns had the post office right next to the station. Héctor managed to purchase stamps with what little pocket change he had on him at one station, and at the next, his first letter went out, containing the lyrics to Coco's lullaby. He continued this habit, smuggling out letter after letter each time they moved. Ernesto was gaining a following as word spread of "his" wonderful songs, and he was easily distracted by fans. Héctor never quite found the right moment to make a break for freedom, but he was at least able to slip a letter into a mail bag at most stations.

Until he was found out. And he paid dearly for it.

Ernesto threw Héctor to the floor of their hotel room and kicked him hard in the ribs, knocking the breath out of him. He swore at Héctor, flinging Héctor's latest letter at him.

"You've been wasting your time writing your stupid little wife instead of writing my songs!" Ernesto barked. "If you do not focus on the work you're supposed to be doing..."

"I can't write any songs, Ernesto!" Héctor gasped, clutching his ribs. "How can I be inspired to write when you keep me in these conditions? You barely let me eat! You treat me like a slave!"

"You _are_ my slave," Ernesto growled. "Because you owe me. I saved your skinny little hide from starvation when you were still just a snot nosed brat on the streets of Santa Cecilia. Then I saved it _again_ when the press gangs came, looking for soldiers. And you repaid me by abandoning me for that whore of yours."

"She is _not—_ "

Ernesto struck Héctor in the face, splitting his lip and knocking an incisor loose. "You are mine, now. And if I can't keep you from wandering off, well..."

He overturned a chair that sat by a small table, then used Héctor's belt and tie to bind his hands and gag him. He pulled off Héctor's shoes and bound his legs to the legs of the chair. Ernesto then produced a thin metal pipe. He raised it and brought it down hard across the soles of Héctor's feet.

The gag sufficiently muffled Héctor's screams, and Ernesto kept one foot on the chair in order to prevent Héctor from pulling it away as the blows continued to rain down on the poor man's soles. Soon enough, the pain caused Héctor to pass out. Only then did Ernesto stop, studying Héctor's torn and bloody socks with sadistic satisfaction.

* * *

After that, Héctor could no longer sneak away to mail letters, and any chance he had at all for making a run for freedom was gone. Just being on his feet was agonizing, and Ernesto demanded he keep up a demeanor as falsely pleasant as Ernesto's own.

But Héctor would not be Héctor if he gave up hope. He had his family to hold onto. Whether Ernesto was there to hear or not, Héctor would still quietly sing Coco's lullaby every night at the same time, then fall asleep praying that he would be able to escape soon and return home.

As the weeks turned into months, and Héctor continued to lose weight and endure beatings, especially on his feet, holding onto that hope became more difficult. Ernesto now beat him for humming without permission, for looking out the train window instead of focusing on adding to his songbook, and for failing to produce a new song. Yet somehow, Ernesto still managed to keep up the charade that they were two best friends off to play for the world whenever they were in public. Héctor eventually grew too tired to do anything other than smile weakly—which Ernesto would pass off as shyness—and nod. There were multiple times when Héctor would wind up locked alone in the hotel for up to three days as Ernesto partied with new friends and hooked up with local girls. The solitude gave Héctor plenty of time to plot a new escape attempt, but it soon took its toll.

It wasn't long before he began to hallucinate.

The visions came as memories, and provided Héctor with his only escape from his personal hell. They varied from the memories of meeting Imelda for the first time and singing to her, to playing with Coco or soothing her during a bout of colic, to the intimate moments he'd shared with his wife. There were memories of the jokes he shared with his twin brothers-in-law, and even memories of happier times when he and Ernesto were children. They were real and vivid, leaving Héctor feeling as though he'd gone back in time. They were a refuge.

Until they started to twist and darken.

The carefree laughter of two best friends by the creek turned into malicious laughter as Héctor's mind conjured images of Ernesto beating him with rocks and sticks. Friendly banter between Héctor and the twins turned into lewd jokes about Imelda, seemingly coming from Héctor's own mouth, but in Ernesto's voice. Memories of his time with Imelda and the snuggles he shared with Coco also became horribly, grossly twisted, sometimes involving Ernesto, sometimes not.

After that came the guilt. Guilt at having left home at all. Guilt at failing to stop Ernesto from terrorizing his family. Guilt at allowing his thoughts to turn so dark. It was soul crushing. The pain became physical as Héctor began to internalize Ernesto's repeated claims that his misery and suffering were self-inflicted. Perhaps this was God punishing him for every little sin he'd ever committed. Maybe even for every sin he'd seen Ernesto commit. As everything Héctor ever did wrong, intentionally or otherwise, came flooding back to him, he wept. His body convulsed as he sobbed. He wished he could just go home. He wished the pain would stop. He began to wish for death.

Héctor was beginning to let go.

Then one night, Ernesto came back to the hotel unexpectedly early. Héctor was curled up in his designated spot on the floor when he felt something—a bottle, it seemed—hit him on the shoulder.

"Happy birthday," Ernesto said, his tone somewhere between anger and mockery. "Don't say I never gave you anything. Even though you don't deserve it, considering you're not holding up your end of our bargain."

His birthday. It was his birthday. Héctor opened his eyes to look at the bottle of tequila, which was half empty. He was 21 years old today, assuming Ernesto wasn't joking or lying about the date. That would mean they'd been on the road almost five months. It would explain why there was a bit of a chill in the air. Héctor was born on the last day of November, so tomorrow would begin the first of the winter months. He barely recalled that they were currently in Mexico City, which save for its elevation had a climate similar to home, being only one or two states over and all.

Héctor's mind spun. Home was closer now than it had yet been.

As that information clicked in Héctor's mind, he pulled the bottle close. Ernesto didn't know it, but he'd sparked one last little bit of hope in his captive. And Héctor planned to use it to make one final attempt at freedom.

* * *

Before the sun rose the next morning, Héctor carefully got up from his mat. He gingerly stretched out his feet, biting his lip and very nearly drawing blood in an attempt not to hiss at the pain. He would have to endure time on his feet one way or another today, and he'd rather it be on his own terms. The only problem was that his terms would almost certainly involve running.

Unless he took out some insurance.

The truth was, Héctor could've greatly increased his odds of escape months ago if he'd been willing to use any force necessary, including lethal force, against Ernesto. But the very thought of killing the man he'd once called brother turned his stomach. Despite all Ernesto had put him through, Héctor could never find it within himself to attempt homicide, however justified it might be. But the season of Navidad was upon them, and Héctor wasn't sure he could last through the end of the year without taking another route out that would permanently keep him from going home. It was either him or Ernesto. Héctor didn't even care if he eventually landed in prison for it. He just wanted to go home and assure his family that he was still alive.

And if he had to die, he resolved not to go quietly.

Héctor tried very hard to ignore the pain in his feet as he slipped around to the far side of the bed, where Ernesto kept his gun tucked under his pillow. Each step sent waves of agony up and down Héctor's body, and he was certain his feet sounded like a herd of elephants each time they landed. Ernesto had always been stronger than Héctor, especially now that Héctor was half-starved and still contending with the many injuries Ernesto had dealt him over the past several months. Héctor would have to be as quick about this as he was silent.

He saw the sidearm sticking partway out from underneath the pillow. Carefully, agonizingly slowly, Héctor reached for the gun and pulled it toward him. Ernesto moved in his sleep, causing Héctor to freeze a moment. But when the movement ceased, Héctor continued his task. Ernesto didn't seem to have a hold of the weapon. Perhaps he'd relaxed his guard upon realizing Héctor absolutely did not want to have to threaten him with it.

Héctor continued to pry the firearm away from the pillow, sliding it with one or two fingers toward the edge of the bed, where it would eventually tumble silently into his other, waiting hand. He shuffled part of the handle off the edge of the mattress, where it seemed to teeter a moment. Héctor very slowly released the breath he realized he'd been holding. So far, so good. Just one...more...inch...

The gun lost its balance and slipped to one side as it fell from the mattress. Héctor fumbled, attempting to catch it, but eventually lost the battle with gravity. The gun landed with a dull thump on the floor. It sounded to Héctor like a thousand bombs going off.

Ernesto gave a grunt and shuffled again, then lay still and quiet. Héctor watched his face for a moment, looking for any sign at all that Ernesto had woken up. After several moments of uncertainty, Héctor sighed inwardly and bent to retrieve the weapon.

Suddenly Ernesto's eyes flew open, fixed on Héctor. Before the beaten man could react, Ernesto's arm was around his throat, and he found himself pinned against the wall, Ernesto's face less than an inch from his.

"Getting desperate, are we?" Ernesto sneered. "Took you long enough."

He heaved Héctor over the bed, tossing him onto the nightstand and knocking over the lamp. Héctor flopped painfully off the table and landed in a heap on the floor. He groaned, but immediately struggled to stand again.

"I'm going..." he panted, "I'm going home, Ernesto. I won't take this anymore."

"Oh, I don't think so," Ernesto said, rounding the bed and approaching Héctor. He scooped up the half-empty bottle of tequila he'd tossed at Héctor the previous night. "You leave under _my_ terms alone. That is, not until I'm good and finished with you, and have no more use for you."

Héctor backed toward the door. Adrenaline mercifully dulled the pain in his feet somewhat, and he felt ready to bolt the moment he got the chance. But the lamp that had been knocked over tripped him up. He stumbled and began to fall, only to be caught by the shirt by Ernesto.

"Good news, old friend," Ernesto said. "I decided yesterday that I had no more use for you. Since you're useless for new songs these days. So I thought I'd send you off with a little toast." He grinned malevolently as he held up the tequila.

Héctor's eyes widened. He had guessed that Ernesto might try to kill him once he'd worn out his usefulness, but he hadn't counted on a poisoned birthday shot. He had assumed his death would come through an entirely different kind of shot.

Ernesto used his teeth to pry the cork out of the bottle, spitting it aside. He pulled Héctor close, prepared to force the lethal liquor down his throat.

Héctor gathered what remained of his rapidly fading strength. "No!" he shouted, pushing the bottle away with one hand and bringing his other fist up to meet Ernesto's broad chin. The action caused Ernesto to let go of Héctor and stumble back. Héctor stared for a moment, half-dazed, while Ernesto spit blood. Héctor's punch had caused him to bite his tongue.

As Ernesto recovered and came for Héctor again, Héctor regained his senses and leaped toward the door. He managed to reach the handle before Ernesto tackled him to the ground. The two of them struggled; Héctor to get free, and Ernesto to keep his victim pinned, while also keeping as much liquid in the bottle as possible. It was less than a minute before Ernesto had Héctor pinned on his back, knee pressing so hard into Héctor's sternum that it knocked the breath from the weakened man's lungs.

Ernesto used his free hand to clench Héctor's chin, pulling his jaw open. "Feliz cumpleaños," he hissed, forcing the bottle into Héctor's mouth and holding it there until it emptied.

Héctor coughed and sputtered, choking on the tequila more than swallowing it. He clawed desperately at Ernesto's arms, but to no avail. For the next couple of minutes, he felt as though he was being drowned.

Once the bottle was empty, Ernesto released Héctor, who immediately rolled over and coughed hard. Once he regained his breath, Héctor didn't waste another second. He jumped to his feet and went again for the door, only to find it locked. He screamed in frustration, banging on the door and pulling on the handle until his feet could take the pressure of his weight no more, causing him to sink to his knees. And that's when a new pain hit.

Héctor doubled over, a sharp pain originating in his stomach and spreading throughout his torso. Whatever poison Ernesto had spiked the drink with was taking its toll. His vision began to blur, and his mind raced, looking for just one more way to escape. He collapsed onto one side, his chest heaving, the agony spreading through his ribs, lungs and even his heart.

The edges of his vision darkened as Héctor began to lose his battle to remain conscious. The last sound he heard was Ernesto's voice, seemingly a world away.

"You left me with no choice, Héctor."

Héctor wanted to close his eyes and give into sleep, but his eyelids wouldn't cooperate. The pain overtook him as the breath left his lungs. As his world grew dark for the last time, his mind flashed to one final, fading thought.

 _Coco..._

* * *

End Act 2.


	12. The New Alebrije

Chapter 12: The New Alebrije

"I woke up...dead."

Héctor clung tightly to Coco, who returned his embrace. The story had taken some time to tell, as Héctor kept having to pause to collect himself as he worked his way through the most difficult memories, trying to ward off flashbacks and keep his breathing under control. In between his panic attacks, Coco had managed to bind and reconnect Héctor's tibia. But now she sat holding him, supporting him as he pushed the last of his living memories back into the dark corners of his mind where they belonged. Héctor's cheekbones were devoid of tear stains, but Coco had wept enough for the both of them.

"I found out when I arrived that it was a few days into December," Héctor said. "So either it took me a few days to actually die, or Ernesto didn't have the correct date. Either way, I'm just...happy I didn't have to feel like I was dying for days.

"They offered me counseling at first," he admitted. "I didn't...I didn't want to talk about what happened. I thought...I could handle it on my own. Since I was dead, there was no one who could hurt me anymore, right? But the memories...they didn't leave me alone."

"You had nightmares and flashbacks," Coco surmised.

"Terrible ones. For years, they made up most of my days and nights. I tried to get work, but something would always make me panic. I couldn't hold down a job. What I said earlier, about my photo being why I lost the tour bus job? That...that was a lie. I apologize for that." He gave Coco a rueful grin. She wasn't impressed. Héctor sighed and continued.

"It was years after I arrived here. I hadn't been having as many nightmares, and the flashbacks weren't as bad. So I thought I could actually keep a good job. But one day on the bus, something...I don't even remember what...caused me to have a flashback. And I guess I got violent and was shouting something about not having a photo. I was kicked off, and my boss told me not to come back. I've been hanging around Shantytown ever since. They're the only people who never judge me."

Coco remained silent for a while, her own emotions in turmoil. The burning rage and hatred she'd felt for de la Cruz had reached such a crescendo that Coco had forcibly pushed it aside, unable to process it at the moment. Now she felt very deeply the pain and sorrow her papá had gone through, combined with that which her surviving family had suffered. The story had unlocked near-forgotten memories of her earliest years, and she shuddered as she was able to recall the sound of the gunshot that just missed her and her mother. She had long been sensitive to loud, concussive sounds like thunder. She had thought that was due to a terrible earthquake that had happened when she was 13. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she'd disliked such noises before that point.

Fear, anger, sorrow and despair churned within her as she recalled her current situation, trapped in the bottom of a cenote, and the only way she could deal with them at the moment was to hold tight to her papá. At least they could comfort one another. At least they had each other.

"Papá," Coco said suddenly, her voice sounding small, almost childlike. "Sing for me, por favor."

Héctor glanced at her, caught off guard by the request. She didn't look at him, instead keeping her head tucked beneath his chin. Héctor rested his own head back on hers, closed his eyes, and began singing a gentle, familiar tune.

"Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don't let it make you cry

Even though I'm far away I hold you in my heart

I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart"

As he reached the refrain, he heard Coco starting to join him. He smiled as he continued, his daughter's voice blending beautifully with his own.

"Remember me

Though I have to travel far

Remember me

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be

Until you're in my arms again

Remember me..."

The final notes echoed off the cenote walls. Once the reverberating sounds ceased, Coco sat up and looked at her papá.

"I'm so sorry I got us into this, Papá," Coco said. "All I wanted was to make all of this right. As if...as if somehow I could bring you back to us; erase everything that happened to us. To you. But all I ended up doing was putting my family through the pain of loss all over again." She began to weep again. "What will happen to my girls now? What will Mamá do when I don't come home? What will Júlio think has happened to me?"

Héctor pulled her head back to his chest. "Don't blame yourself, mija. Your heart was in the right place. You love your family, dead and alive. That's not a bad thing. Besides, if I were more stubborn, I'd have sent you back whether you wanted to go or not, and we could've avoided all this. I'm a pushover. The only reason I refused to tour with Ernesto is because I was more afraid of your mamá."

Coco couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Héctor smiled. "There's my favorite sound from my favorite hija."

Coco wiped her eyes. "Look at us," she said. "We're being pathetic. We need to pick ourselves up and start looking for a way out. It's not dawn yet."

"Epa! That's the spirit!" Héctor encouraged, pulling her to her feet. "There has to be some way out of this pit, and if anyone is too tonto to give up on the impossible, it's us!" He walked to the edge of the water. "Let's try the first unlikely-to-remotely-be-effective thing I know to do: Call for help." With that, he let loose a trilling grito, which reverberated off the walls of the cenote and even seemed to shake water droplets from stalactites.

"That's all well and good, Papá, but it doesn't exactly scream 'help,'" Coco pointed out. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "HEEELLLLLP! Is anyone there?!"

Her plea was repeated multiple times by the walls around them, but no one responded. Once all was silent again, Héctor shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, okay, yelling didn't work this time, so now we try to see if there's some kind of hole or something out of here." He turned and started heading to the back of the cenote.

Suddenly, Coco heard a faint but familiar sound. "Papá, wait! Listen!"

Héctor paused and tilted his head, brushing back his hair so as to leave his inner ear bones unobscured. "I don't hear anything, mija."

Coco shushed him, listening intently. She heard the sound again.

"Meow!"

"Pepita?"

The meowing became louder, desperate and excited. Suddenly, Pepita poked her head over the edge of the cenote, peering down at them and meowing fervently.

"Pepita, you found us!" Coco cried. "Listen, girl, we need you to get help."

"Oh, sure, like the cat's gonna go find someone who can actually help us and drag them all the way back here," Héctor scoffed. "No, cats don't do that. They're not dogs."

"Pepita's been loyally watching over our family since before the girls were born," Coco said defensively. "She's more than capable of finding help for us."

As if in response, Pepita paced the edge for a moment, then put her paws over the edge, studying the water. Then, before Coco could order her to do anything to the contrary, the little tabby jumped.

"Pepita!" Coco cried, watching as the cat flailed for a moment before spreading all four of her paws out.

Pepita landed with a small splash in the water, and Coco scrambled in after her. She'd made it up to her knees when Pepita surfaced and began paddling toward her. Coco scooped her beloved family pet up and carried her the rest of the way to land, setting her down gently. Pepita made her way toward Héctor, shaking water off her paws with each step.

Héctor gave the cat an amused smirk, then raised a brow ridge at Coco. "You want to amend that last statement?" he teased. He ignored the cat as she brushed up against his legs, purring.

Coco scoffed. "She's...just a little too loyal for her own good, I guess," she defended.

"Or a little too stupid."

"Say what you will about her, Papá, but there's one thing I know about Pepita." Coco knelt and gestured for Pepita to come to her. The cat obeyed, and was rewarded with scratches under the chin and behind the ears. She purred contentedly.

"Mamá and my tios rescued Pepita as a kitten, and ever since then, she's made it her job to guard our family. And she's proven she'll go to any lengths to do it. You talked about the alebrijes of this world being spirit guides who help people. But I can think of no better spirit guide and guardian for our family than Pepita. She may be a little house cat, but she's got the heart of a jaguar."

Pepita was fully engaged in the affection she was getting when suddenly she froze, hackles up, then stared down at her paws, a slight growl rising in her throat as her paws began to glow.

Coco pulled her hand back in alarm as light began creeping up Pepita's body, enveloping it, shifting through every color of the rainbow as it went. The light brightened with a brilliant flash, causing the humans to stumble back as it seemingly exploded in both size and color, filling the entire cavern. It faded almost as suddenly as it appeared, and something landed on the rocks with a heavy thump, enough to shake the ground around them.

Coco gasped and Héctor's jaw fell almost to the ground as they stared at what had been left behind by the unexpected light show. There before them was an enormous winged jaguar, horns on its head and talons for rear legs. The creature glowed with vibrant greens, reds and oranges. It turned several times, studying its own body and looking in surprise at its wings. It then fixed its gaze on Coco.

"Pepita?" Coco whispered, standing and allowing the overgrown cat to approach. It pushed its muzzle into Coco's chest, forcing her to take a step back, and purred contentedly.

Coco laughed and hugged the large alebrije's muzzle. "Pepita!" she repeated. "Oh, Pepita, you're brilliant!"

Pepita closed her eyes as she soaked in the praise.

Héctor nervously approached. "Uh...Pepita? What I said before, about you being too stupid? That...that was stupid of me, and I apologize for doing that."

Pepita rounded on the skeleton man, playfully shoving him to the ground with her nose and giving him a lick.

"Okay okay okay okay okay!" Héctor cried, fending off the big cat's rough tongue while Coco laughed. He made a show of being disgusted at being covered in cat drool, shooting Pepita a half-hearted glare. "So are you gonna get us outta here, or what?"

Pepita let loose a roar that rattled the water off the stalactites, then turned and lowered one wing to the ground, offering the humans a ramp to reach her back. They obliged, Héctor clinging nervously to the fur of Pepita's back. The jaguar then launched herself in the air, floundering a few times and landing in the water before getting the hang of her wings. Mere moments later, she and her passengers soared out of the cenote and into the sky.

Coco had never felt this kind of exhilaration before. She screamed in delight, as one might do on a carnival ride. This was by far better than any carnival ride yet invented. Right behind her, Héctor also screamed, though certainly not with delight. He kept his eyes clamped shut, maintaining a death grip on Pepita's fur. Coco laughed. Funny how she was nothing less than thrilled to be flying around on an alebrije who had had her wings not even five minutes, while the idea of being on a rickety city trolley was still enough to make her stomach turn. Meanwhile, poor Héctor, comfortable dangling thousands of feet in the air from a cable car, was absolutely terrified of flying.

 _I guess this just speaks to how much trust we each put in Pepita,_ Coco mused.

Pepita chose a rooftop and descended upon it, hovering for several moments as she contemplated her landing. Eventually, she landed with a soft thud that was still enough to jolt her passengers. Héctor unceremoniously tumbled off, giving the ground a quick kiss before standing and offering a hand to Coco. She giggled as she accepted it, sliding easily down Pepita's wing.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it, Papá," she said.

"I'm sure I won't," Héctor griped, adjusting the straw hat on his head that he'd somehow managed to avoid losing during the flight. "So now we just need to get you back to the station and get one of those petals. Then we can get you home, and...Coco?"

Coco was staring off toward a well-lit tower across town. It looked like a stadium, and Coco guessed that it must be where the Sunrise Spectacular was being held. She turned to her papá.

"You know, de la Cruz still has that torn piece of our family portrait."

Héctor held up his hands. "Oh, no no no, you are _not_ starting that again, young lady! You didn't even have a complete plan last time! You said yourself it was foolish to try to go after de la Cruz!"

"Yes, precisely because I _didn't_ have a plan. But this time I do. A plan to get your photo, expose de la Cruz to the world, and it even has an exit strategy if things go wrong. And we still have a few hours."

"Where do you keep coming up with these loco ideas?!" Héctor cried, exasperated.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Coco asked, smirking. "If you're up for it, all I need to come up with is a way to actually get into the Sunrise Spectacular and get backstage."

Héctor ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "And what if I have another flashback?" he argued.

"Hence the exit strategy," Coco said. "We'll both keep a few extra petals on us, too, so that you can send me home the moment we're done. What do you think, Papá? Want to try one more crazy trick for Dia de los Muertos?"

He shouldn't. He really really really shouldn't. But Coco...oh, Coco was clever. She didn't resort to the pouty lip, the teary eyes or any other emotional appeal, the way she had when she was a child. No, this time, she was reeling Héctor in with an entirely different type of bait. She knew his weaknesses. And now, he was stuck. His curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know what this brilliant plan was.

"Okay, we'll try one more time," he said, mentally berating himself for giving in once again to Coco's demands. "But if anything, and I do mean _anything_ , looks like it's going to go even remotely sideways, I'm sending you home, no matter how much you protest."

"Fair enough, Papá," Coco agreed. "And this time, I promise to trust your judgment on that one. So...what would you say is the best way to sneak into the Sunrise Spectacular?"

Héctor tapped his chin in contemplation. "I might know one way," he said.

* * *

 **AN:** Did you all take note of the Chekhov's Gun I loaded several chapters back? It's about to go off.


	13. The Fallen Idol

**AN:** My apologies for how long this chapter took. We've been dealing with flooding and a lot of rain, which our internet has NOT liked. I had actually lost the ability to connect to it from my computer for a while. But I'm back now, with only a couple more chapters to go before the end of our tale.

* * *

Chapter 13: The Idol Falls

Ceci was a sucker for sob stories.

Coco pondered that notion as she recalled the argument Ceci and Héctor had had earlier that night regarding his need to borrow various items from the designer, possibly implementing her in illegal activity in the process. It was the only explanation. Ceci was easily irritated by Héctor, but could be won over once the hammy musician slipped into full character, complete with a weepy sounding voice, reminding her of all that he had lost. And it wasn't as though she hadn't heard his version of the story every year since her death. Yet when Héctor reenacted it yet again for her as he and Coco explained their plan for exposing de la Cruz, Ceci's resolve seemed to crumble.

Of course, it could also be that she didn't exactly like working for de la Cruz either.

"As far as employers and contractors go, the man is a tyrant," she griped. "If I tried to quit, and he found out it was because of my connection to the Riveras, he'd turn my afterlife into a real hell." She gave the duo a wry grin. "You'll be doing us all a favor by visiting that fate on him before he has that chance."

And that was how Héctor and Coco found themselves among an ensemble of folklórico dancers, performing one of the opening acts of the Sunrise Spectacular.

A break in the routine allowed the two to slip backstage unnoticed. Ceci wished them luck as they disappeared into the green room and changed out of their costumes.

Coco couldn't help but giggle at the sight of her father, who wore a bright red skirt and blouse, as well as a wig decorated with flowers.

"What's so funny?" Héctor asked with a bemused grin.

"Oh, nothing. Just that you pull of that look so well it's concerning."

Héctor furrowed his brows and pursed his lip ridges, forming an 'o' with his mouth. The resulting look was even more comical.

"What are you doing, Papá?" Coco asked, still trying to suppress her giggles.

"Pretend I have a tongue and I'm sticking it out at you," Héctor replied.

Coco laughed aloud.

"Okay, okay, let's focus on getting this job done," Héctor said, whipping off the dress to reveal his normal clothes underneath. He quickly swapped out his wig for his own hair, then turned to assist Coco.

"I've got it, Papá," Coco said as she wriggled out of her own costume. "Do you still have the petals?"

Héctor reached into his jacket pocket and produced a few marigold petals. "I'm not letting them—or you—out of my sight, mija," he assured her.

They slipped out of the green room and into the corridors.

"Now to find de la Cruz," Coco said.

"Yes?"

Speak of the devil. Almost literally. Coco and Héctor skidded to a halt as their quarry stepped out of his dressing room, straightening his tie. De la Cruz looked up to see who had said his name, his pleasant demeanor melting into an expression of shock and anger when he recognized the intruders.

"You! How did you get in here?"

"We're resourceful," Coco said. "And you're outnumbered." She pointed at his charro jacket pocket, which still held Héctor's part of the family portrait. "Give us the photo!"

De la Cruz gave a nervous chuckle. "Ah-heh...no!" With that, he turned and bolted down the hallway.

Coco and Héctor gave chase. De la Cruz led them through several hallways before circling back to an area underneath the stage. He bowled over several performers along the way, shouting for his security guards to help him. A few responded, trying to block his pursuers.

Coco had changed into dancing shoes as part of her disguise and still wore them, freeing up her remaining boot to be used as a weapon. And if ever there were a time to put into practice what she'd learned from her mamá, it was now. She swept the boot out of her apron pocket and across the face of the nearest guard in one swift motion, the blow knocking his skull off his spine as Coco dashed past. She dodged another guard and continued her pursuit of de la Cruz.

Héctor preoccupied the remaining guards, splitting himself in half to hop over and slide under one guard simultaneously, then slipping behind another guard, staying at his back.

"What's the matter, can't catch one dead guy?" he mocked. The guard he'd previously escaped came charging at him, but Héctor bounced away just in time, watching with satisfaction as the two guards collided and landed in a pile of disassembled bones.

Héctor tisked at them. "Ernesto really should screen applicants better when hiring new security." With that, he ran to catch up with Coco.

Coco was still hot on de la Cruz's heels. The celebrity pushed aside a stage hand, headed for an emergency exit. Coco caught him first, grabbing for the picture in his pocket. De la Cruz grabbed her wrist, causing her to yelp. Coco brought her boot up, whacking de la Cruz across the jaw. He released her suddenly, causing her to stumble backward, picture still in hand.

"I have it, Papá!" she shouted.

De la Cruz dove for her, only to be intercepted by Héctor, who tackled him to the ground.

"Look out, Coco!" Héctor shouted as he grappled with de la Cruz. He jerked his head in the direction of the guards, who were bearing down on Coco.

Coco scrambled to her feet and bolted for a nearby staircase. But instead of leading out to where Pepita waited for the two of them, the stairs led into an open space filled with glaring light. Coco blinked and held her hand in front of her eyes, noting ruefully that her skeletal hands did little to shade her face from the blinding luminescence.

"Damas y caballeros," an announcer called, "please welcome to the stage Ernesto de la Cruz!"

The crowd applauded as Coco absorbed the fact that she was out on stage. She was disoriented by the lights, and turned back toward what she thought was the backstage area, only to run into a microphone that had been set up for the performance. Suddenly another light was upon her; this one a spotlight. The crowd became silent as they gazed in confusion at the woman who was decidedly _not_ de la Cruz—or even dead for that matter.

"She's...she's alive!" she heard someone in the orchestra pit whisper. The crowd murmured their own amazement.

Coco blinked in the spotlight. Once her eyes adjusted, she glanced off to stage right, where she could see her papá still struggling with de la Cruz and the guards. De la Cruz gestured toward Coco, drawing the guards' attention.

"Get her off the stage!" she heard him growl.

Coco's mind spun. She had to give her papá a chance to escape, and they still had to lure de la Cruz back toward Pepita somehow if their plan was to work. Suddenly, an idea crossed her mind. She pulled the mic close.

"My apologies, ladies and gentlemen," she began. "But the maestro is experiencing a few technical difficulties at the moment, and will be out shortly." It took every ounce of willpower to keep her face neutral on the word "maestro." But she had an act to perform. "In the meantime, he's asked me, the daughter of an old friend, to present a song while he prepares. You see, I've had an incident that's allowed me a chance to visit your world for just this one night, and dear Tio Nesto was so elated that he begged me to participate in his Sunrise Spectacular before he helps send me back to the land of the living."

She cast a mocking grin back at de la Cruz, who was seething. Héctor had clapped a hand over his mouth, barely able to contain his laughter. De la Cruz motioned for the guards to forget Héctor and advance on Coco. They very slowly shuffled out, trying to avoid catching the audience's attention. That gave Héctor the chance to slip around to stage left, while de la Cruz was preoccupied with signaling orders to his guards.

Coco wasted no more time. She quickly picked the one song besides her father's stolen songs that she'd heard multiple times. It was a patriotic song, and the orchestra would surely recognize it and be able to join in. But perhaps more significantly, she had once heard her mother confess that it was her favorite song. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes so she could picture Júlio, and began to sing.

"Ay de mi, llorona

Llorona de azul celeste..."

From somewhere offstage she heard a guitar starting to play. She glanced to stage left and saw that her papá had grabbed a spare mic and one of the guitars, and was now softly accompanying her.

The guards continued to advance on Coco from stage right as she continued to sing. She plucked the mic off its stand and began gradually making her way to stage left. As she reached the end of the course and launched into a verse, she picked up her tempo, vocalizing a cue for the orchestra to join in as she began to dance. The guards tried to dodge the moving spotlight while also trying to tackle Coco, but she easily danced, spun and sidestepped out of their reach. At one point, she even grabbed a guard by the wrist, pulling him into the spotlight and thrusting the mic into his hands. He shrank back, pushing the mic away and running for the shadows.

The remaining guards were winded, and Coco easily dashed past them toward her papá, the photo in her outstretched hand. She had almost made it when someone grabbed her wrist, and a deep voice joined with hers. She glanced up to see de la Cruz holding tightly to her hand. For a while, their voices blended together as they each kept up the performance. The spotlight shifted to them, and the crowd cheered.

De la Cruz took over the dance, dragging Coco away from Héctor, picking her up and twirling her as she struggled against him. Coco quickly realized that he was definitely the superior dancer, as he spun and pulled her along to center stage. He was singing solo now, pulling Coco into a hold that looked to the audience like an affectionate embrace. He plucked the photo from her hand as he reached the end of the refrain.

Coco glanced around, looking for an escape. She had one free hand, which she used to pull up her skirt so she could stomp as hard as her dancing shoes would allow on de la Cruz's foot. It must've been enough, as de la Cruz let out a pained grito and began hopping up and down in agony, releasing Coco and allowing her to grab the photo.

She rushed off stage and flung herself into her papá's arms, laughing joyously. "Did you see that, Papá? I can't believe I just did that!"

Héctor laughed too. "That was pretty clever, mija," he said.

"Well, I've got the photo, so now..."

"Now it's time to go home," Héctor said.

"But Papá..."

"No buts. We cut it way too close, and you promised you'd let me decide when to send you back."

Coco sighed. "Yes I did. And I intend to keep that promise."

Héctor held up a marigold petal. "Coco, I give you my blessing," he said. The petal began to glow. "But this time with a condition. When you get home, be sure to give your mamá and my granddaughters a big hug from me." The petal glowed brighter as it internalized the condition.

Coco smiled. "I will, Papá. And while I will miss seeing you, I'm so glad you'll be able to visit next year, since I know beyond a shadow of a doubt you'll be there."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Héctor said, holding the petal out.

Coco began to reach for it, when suddenly she was grabbed by the collar of her sweater and jerked back.

"You're not going anywhere!" de la Cruz growled at her.

"Let her go!" Héctor shouted, dropping the petal and lunging at de la Cruz, only to be grabbed and flung aside, where he landed hard against a nearby camera rig.

De la Cruz wrapped Coco in his grip and began backing toward the balcony. "Stay back!" he threatened.

Héctor shakily rose, bracing himself against the camera for support. His hand fumbled around behind the device, flipping a switch and setting the film reels in motion.

"Ernesto," Héctor pleaded. "Just leave her alone! She's a living woman, Ernesto! With children at home!"

"She's a threat!" de la Cruz hissed. "You think I'm about to let her go back to the land of the living to keep _your_ memory alive while she destroys _my_ reputation? No!"

"What are you gonna do?" Coco cried, glancing up at her captor. "Kill me?"

"You've gotten in my way far too many times!" de la Cruz spat. "All you've ever been is a distraction! I should've dealt with you and your mother 21 years ago!"

"Just like you 'dealt' with Papá when he refused to let you take anything more from him? The way you tormented and beat him, then murdered him for his songs?"

"Oh, don't worry, I would've been much quicker with you than I was with him," de la Cruz sneered. "And really, he brought it all on himself. He was stopping me from taking hold of my destiny. I am Ernesto de la Cruz, the greatest musician of all time! No thanks to him!"

"Papá's the real musician!" Coco retorted.

"But I am the one who is willing to do whatever it takes to seize my moment!" he leaned down until his face was nearly pressed against hers, speaking with a dangerously low voice, almost a whisper. "Whatever it takes."

With that, de la Cruz spun Coco around and flung her toward the edge of the balcony. He still had a hold of her sweater, and she slipped right out of it, revealing the progress of the curse up to her collarbone. Coco's arms flailed as she tried to gain her balance, but before she could, de la Cruz grabbed her by the collar and pushed her fully over the edge.

"No!" Héctor cried, scrambling to the edge of the balcony. "Coco!"

De la Cruz flung the sweater at Héctor's feet. "Apologies, old friend," he mocked, "but the show must go on."

* * *

Coco screamed as she plummeted several stories, still clutching the photo tight. _Pepita, where are you?!_ she thought frantically as the ground loomed closer and closer. Not a blink of an eye later, a green blur rocketed beneath her, and Coco landed on something both hard and soft, grunting as she changed velocity and direction so suddenly. Her hands instinctively reached to grip glowing fur, but in the process she let go of the photo.

"No no no no no no!" Coco cried, fumbling unsuccessfully for the scrap of paper. As Pepita carried her back to the top of the tower, she watched helplessly as the photo fluttered to the ground, to be lost in the river far below.

* * *

Meanwhile, de la Cruz had smoothed his displaced hair back into its signature cowlick, then burst back out onto stage. He was greeted enthusiastically by his "familia," and he gave a cheerful wave.

"My apologies for the unexpected change in programming, mi familia. Dearest Coco's situation has been taken care of, and I do hope you enjoyed our performance."

The crowd cheered in response. Ernesto smiled. So far, they hadn't suspected anything was amiss. As he played to the audience a moment longer, no one noticed a green and red alebrije making its way around toward the tech booth at the opposite end of the arena.

"Orchestra, I know you've been waiting all night to accompany me. Come, strike up the band for me!"

The conductor raised his baton to comply when a sudden fading of the lights stopped him. Everyone looked up as they noticed the projection screen lowering. Lights flickered, and a raw video flashed across the screen. The audio blared out from de la Cruz's state-of-the-art speakers.

De la Cruz turned his glare on the stage hands, who looked just as confused. Who had started his movies? Those weren't supposed to start until the moments before sunrise!

The audience gave a collective gasp as they recognized de la Cruz on the screen, Coco in his grip.

"She's a living woman, Ernesto!" Héctor's voice pleaded.

De la Cruz's jaw dropped as the audience reacted in shock to the scene before them. They gasped as they listened to de la Cruz confess to murder, then screamed as he flung Coco over the balcony. There was even a collective sigh of relief when Coco reappeared on the back of a jaguar alebrije, seemingly no worse for wear. Moments after that, the film ended, and the lights went back up.

A stunned silence settled over the arena. De la Cruz gave a nervous chuckle. "Ah...just...some test footage for an upcoming film of mine! Yes!"

"Oh, come now, Ernesto, you know no one here believes that," Héctor's voice came over the speakers.

De la Cruz turned to see Héctor step out from stage left, holding a mic.

"That is some rather incriminating evidence, isn't it? Very clever of my very talented hija to uncover the truth. Well done, mija!" He waved across the arena.

The audience turned to the technician's booth, where Coco sat at the controls. She waved back and exchanged a thumbs up with the man who had earlier shown her how to use the camera.

Héctor smirked at de la Cruz. "For what it's worth, Ernesto, I hereby revoke your status as Coco's godfather and honorary tio. But hey, that's what you wanted, right? So now we're both happy."

De la Cruz's hands balled into fists. He turned back toward his audience. "Mi familia, do not believe this riffraff! He is an intruder and no friend of mine!"

"Then how did you know his daughter's name was Coco?" an audience member in the front row challenged.

De la Cruz had no answer for that. He chuckled nervously as the audience began to boo. "Orchestra!" he cried, hoping to distract the rapidly evolving mob with a song. "A one, and a two, and a..."

The conductor simply glared at de la Cruz before snapping his baton in half.

So de la Cruz, ignoring the jeers and calls to get off the stage, decided a capella was in order. And he'd better make it the fan favorite, too. "Remember me! Though I have to—hey!" He was cut off as a rotten tomato made contact with his charro jacket, staining it red. It was quickly followed by an assortment of fruits and vegetables, all from ofrendas, where they had been sitting for days to soften in the late October sun. They were more than ripe for the tossing.

"Oh, Ernesto," Héctor called, having discarded the mic. "Pepita would like to have a word with you."

"Who the diablo is Pepita?"

In response, the colorful jaguar pushed her way through the curtains separating the stage from the balcony, slowly striding up to de la Cruz, a growl twitching at her jowls. She advanced on the terrified skeleton, stopping inches away from him.

De la Cruz could feel Pepita's hot breath on his bones. He gave a nervous grin and said, "Nice kitty!"

Pepita roared, then head butted de la Cruz right over the orchestra pit. But before he could land in the laps of his livid former fans in the front row, Pepita caught him in her rear talons. She carried him up and over the edge of the arena, leading the audience to scramble up to the top seats to try and watch what was happening. Then, with practiced ease, she flung her screaming prey into the air, whipping her tail around to bat him out of the arena altogether.

Coco watched with satisfaction as de la Cruz sailed into a bell that hung outside the entrance to the arena. After colliding with the bell, de la Cruz slid down and landed with an unceremonious _thump_. He looked up in time to hear a crack as the bell broke loose from its rigging, crashing down on him in a moment of poetic justice. The audience watching cheered, then turned to pass the spectacle along to those below them.

Ernesto de la Cruz's career and reputation were no more.


	14. The Curse Lifted

Chapter 14: The Curse Lifted

Despite everyone's curiosity about Coco, no one dared get close enough to pepper her with questions, as Pepita had already perched on the edge of the arena to pick her up. The alebrije carried Coco to the backstage area, setting down in the same spot where Coco and Héctor had recorded de la Cruz's confession. Coco slid off of Pepita's back and ran to embrace her father.

"How's the old ticker doing now, Papá?" Coco teased.

Héctor smirked and gave her a playful shove. Getting thrown over the edge of the tower hadn't been an initial part of Coco's plan, though having Pepita nearby for extra muscle certainly was. Héctor had been in a state of genuine panic when he saw Coco go over, and was relieved beyond words when Pepita swooped in and caught her. When Coco set foot on the balcony again, Héctor had swept her into a hug.

"What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?" he had chided.

Coco had simply stated the obvious in response, a smirk on her face. "You don't have a heart."

Héctor had feigned hurt at that, but the two quickly turned their attention to disconnecting the film reels, which Coco and Pepita then carried to the projector on the other end of the arena. Héctor had stayed back to pull down the projection screen. All in all, it had worked beautifully, with only a minor hiccup—if one could call Coco plummeting to her near-doom a minor hiccup.

As Héctor held Coco a moment longer in the aftermath, he noticed the horizon beginning to turn pink. He pulled back and said, "It's almost sunrise, mija." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a marigold petal. "Fourth time's the charm, eh?" he joked.

Coco smiled, but her smile faded as soon as it came. "Papá...I have some things...some favors to ask of you."

"Better make it quick, mija," Héctor said, noting how quickly the sky was growing light. "I'm starting to see your skull."

"Well, first of all...the people of Shantytown deserve way better than they're getting. Now that we've exposed de la Cruz, he'll surely have to be punished, and the profit he's made on your work should revert to you. I'd like you to use whatever you gain from all of this to help your friends—your family—in Shantytown. No one deserves to face their end alone and in squalor like that."

Héctor beamed at her. "Done," he said enthusiastically.

"Second...you. I want you to talk to a professional. About everything that happened to you. It'll hopefully be a long while before anyone in our family joins you, and you'll need someone who will listen to you until then. You've still got scars, and you still need someone to help heal them."

Héctor sobered at that, glancing down at his fractured tibia. He gave a shaky sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I-I don't know, mija..."

"Papá," Coco said sternly. "I don't want to go back only to spend the rest of my life worrying about you."

He gave her a small smile. "Alright, for you, my darling."

"And third," Coco continued, "return that sweater to its proper owner. Washed and pressed."

Héctor chuckled. "Do I look like I own an ironing board?" he teased.

"Oh, I'm sure Ceci will let you borrow hers, since it's for a worthy cause this time. Also, you owe her."

"I'm well aware," Héctor admitted. "Anymore conditions?"

"No, I think that's it."

"In that case..." he held up the marigold petal. "Coco, I give you my blessing. Go home, live your life, love your family. And remember me."

The petal glowed brightly, infused with the love of a father. Coco teared up, embracing her papá one final time.

"Te amo, Papá," she whispered.

Héctor returned the embrace and kissed her on the head. "Te amo, Coco," he replied.

The moment was far, far briefer than Coco would have liked. The edge of the sun's disc was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Coco reached for the petal. Upon touching it, a bright light emanated from it, enveloping her, and just like that she was gone.

* * *

Marigold petals fluttered to the ground as sunlight streamed in through the windows of de la Cruz's mausoleum. Some settled on a figure laying on the floor. Coco stirred and pushed herself up to her knees, blinking in the sunlight and examining her hands. She was fully flesh and blood again.

 _Was it all just a dream? s_ he wondered. She stood, then noticed her feet. They were bare. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her remaining boot, examining it. _So it was real. But I wouldn't have been able to take anything out of the Land of the Dead anyway._

Coco felt a lump rise in her throat and tears sting her eyes as she recalled the events of the previous night. She really _had_ met her papá. All of that had really happened. She turned to gaze at her papá's guitar, hanging on its pegs above the crypt. "I'll be back for you," she promised the gleaming white instrument. With that, she dashed out of the tomb, headed for home.

As Coco tore through the streets of Santa Cecilia, Júlio and their girls foremost on her mind, she didn't even notice as she raced past her twin tios, who were curled on a bench, sleeping off an exhausting all-night search. Oscar stirred as Coco passed them, barely recognizing her until she retreated into the distance.

"There she is!" he cried, jumping up and shoving his twin off of him. Felipe landed with a thud on the ground, glaring up at Oscar in irritation.

Coco rounded a corner and burst into the compound of the hacienda, where she immediately found her husband and mamá conversing. They looked up when they heard the gate slam open.

"Júlio!" Coco shouted with glee, throwing herself into the short man's arms with enough force to cause him to spin in order to maintain his balance.

"Where have you been?!" Imelda asked, worry still plain on her face.

Coco planted a kiss on a still-shocked Júlio's lips before releasing him so she could turn and hug her mother. "Oh, Mamá, I'm so sorry!" she cried. "I should've listened to you. I was impulsive and angry and...I should've trusted you from the beginning. You had a plan, and I should've heard it out."

Imelda held her daughter, stunned at the confession. Part of her still wanted to be angry, but at the moment, she could only feel relieved. She leaned into the hug, tightening her embrace. "We're all together now," she said. "That's what matters."

"Almost all together," Coco clarified.

"Where were you, mi quierda?" Júlio asked. "You had us all so worried."

Coco pulled away from her mother, tear stains on her cheeks. She sniffed and chuckled. "You would never believe me," she said. "But...I have an idea about where we can begin searching for Papá's remains."

Before Imelda could ask her how she had come by that information, the three of them heard two excited young voices and the patter of little feet coming from the hacienda. Two nightgown-clad little girls came running, the elder dragging her sister along by the hand. They were followed by Rosita, who had heard the commotion from the kitchen.

"Mamá!" Victória cried. "You're home!"

"Mamá! Mamá!" Elena chirped.

Coco scooped her girls up and peppered them with kisses. "Oh, mis niñas!" she wept. "I thought I...oh, mijas, I'm so glad to be home!"

Júlio and Rosita joined the embrace, Rosita fussing over her sister-in-law about the scare she'd given them. At the same moment, Oscar and Felipe scrambled into the courtyard, out of breath and trying to talk over one another.

"Imelda, we saw her!"

"Running down the street!"

"She disappeared around a corner!"

"We can still find her if..."

The twins paused when they noticed Imelda's raised eyebrow and smirk. She nodded toward the scene in the middle of the compound.

"Oh," the twins said in unison.

Coco chuckled at her tios as Imelda came over to join the group hug. The twins shrugged and jumped in as well. They all stood like that for several minutes, basking in one another's presence and love.

Finally Imelda stood back. "Come, familia, we have breakfast to make and a shop to open. And Coco..."

Coco turned to her mother, fully expecting a well-deserved scolding for scaring everyone the night before. To her surprise, Imelda had a soft expression on her face.

"I have something I'd like to show you, mija," Imelda said. "After breakfast."

"Si, Mamá," Coco said.

The family made their way toward the kitchen, where they would work together to get the morning meal on the table. As they walked, Imelda noticed Coco's bare feet for the first time.

"Good heavens, Coco, what on earth happened to your boots?"

* * *

Breakfast was hardly a silent affair, with every member of the family begging Coco to tell them what had happened the previous night. Coco gave evasive answers, a smile playing at her lips most of the time as she teased them with only vague bits of information.

"Let's just say it was something that you might expect to only happen in a dream," she said. "But I saw Papá. He sends his love."

"You dreamed about your papá?" Rosita asked.

"I don't...think it was a dream," Coco said hesitantly. "Like I said, you wouldn't believe me, or the adventure I had. I'm not completely certain I believe it myself." She turned to Victória. "The important thing now is that we get that drawing up on the ofrenda. Your abuelo wants very much to see it next year, mija."

Victória blushed. "Do you think it's really ready?" she asked.

"I'm certain it is," Coco assured her. Though...there is one thing you should add. You should give him a sombrero. A goofy straw one."

Victória giggled. "Why, Mamá? He'd look silly in it!"

"Because he _is_ silly, mija. And he loves being silly. He always did. He always knew how to make me laugh."

Victória quietly contemplated this new information. "Okay, I'll add a sombrero," she said.

The family finished breakfast and began to clean up. As Coco began to assist Rosita with the dishes, Imelda pulled her aside.

"We need to talk, mija," Imelda said, gesturing for Coco to follow her.

She led Coco to her bedroom, stooping to pull an old trunk out from underneath the bed. She invited Coco to sit on the edge of the bed with her and opened the trunk. Coco's eyes widened at the contents. Inside the trunk were mementos from Imelda's life when Héctor was alive, including her wedding dress, a fancy tablecloth, and a box which Imelda pulled out and opened. Inside were 13 gold coins. Nestled in next to them was a wedding band. Imelda gingerly picked it up, her eyes misting over as she studied it.

"Your papá had the most awkwardly shaped hands," she said with a smile. "We tried getting a wedding band custom made to go over his knuckles, but it always ended up being too big for his finger. It would slide around, and he still had a hard time getting it on and off. So after the ceremony, we just decided to keep it with the coins." She set the band back in the box and carefully closed it again.

"That's not what you wanted to show me," Coco guessed.

Imelda shook her head. "Lift up the wedding dress," she said.

Coco very carefully and reverently lifted the dress out of the chest. Underneath was an old, worn leather book. Imelda nodded to it, prompting Coco to pick it up and open the cover. She gasped as she saw sketches and poems written within. The poems were signed and dated, and all were addressed to Imelda. She recognized the lyrics to "Un Poco Loco" in one of them. She turned the pages carefully, smiling at the many doodles and scraps of song lyrics.

"That was your father's idea book at the time that we met," Imelda said. "He hadn't come into his own as a songwriter yet. His ideas were all pretty...cheesy, to say the least. And then he met me. Said I was his muse." She smiled at the memory. "He wanted to throw this book out after a few years, because it was full of 'old ideas,' but I held onto it. And..." She reached over and turned several more pages until she came to several loose leaf pages. Her hand rested on them, and she gave a shaky breath.

"These were his last letters," she choked out, a sob rising in her throat. "The only clue they ever gave about his whereabouts was in the return addresses. The messages were always about how much he loved us. They were desperate, and painful, and I just didn't know what to do with them. So I put them in here."

Tears streamed down both women's faces. Coco carefully unfolded and read one letter. Sure enough, it was all about how desperately Héctor missed his family, with no information about where he was or how de la Cruz was treating him. But Coco also recognized the lyrics to one of his other songs. As she skimmed through the letters, each read as from a man who knew each day might be his last, and who seemed desperate to make his last words to his family ones of unrelenting love. Coco came across one letter addressed specifically to her, with all the lyrics to "Remember Me" contained within. Each letter was dated to a time well before de la Cruz made it big.

"Why didn't you let me see these before, Mamá?" Coco asked.

"I was afraid the memories would be too painful for you," Imelda said. "They were for me. I couldn't...I can't bear them. But I can't escape them either. Whenever I hear music, it's bad enough, but to look at you...you remind me so much of him. Moreso than all the music in the world."

Coco leaned over and hugged her. "Mamá, I know there are a lot of painful memories. But they don't make the good memories any less important. We have to hold onto them all. Pain and loss, they define us as much as happiness and love. We can't deny that part of ourselves."

"I know," Imelda whispered. "I know." She pulled back, wiping her eyes and putting on her business face. "And I had a practical reason for keeping these. The dates, the handwriting, the lyrics...they will help us build our case against de la Cruz. But before we can do any of that, we need evidence of a crime. If you've learned where we can find your papá's remains, we can reclaim them; that won't be hard. We can have them examined for any evidence of murder. And then we can start to dismantle de la Cruz's empire of lies. I've been watching him, you know. Everything he's ever done that's been made public knowledge, I've investigated. I've searched his work over and over for clues, even enduring his butchering of your papá's songs—and you have no idea how much that hurt; how angry it always made me. I've kept newspaper clippings, which are locked up in my office. I've done everything I can to prepare a case against him."

Coco gaped at her. She never would've taken her mother for a stalker, however justified it might be. "How long have you been planning this?"

"From the beginning. De la Cruz had a lot of power when he was alive, and he still has some of it even now. Between the financial restraints and my fears that he would come after you, I decided to bide my time; to wait for the right opportunity. I feared it wouldn't come until after his death, but he died much sooner than anyone would've imagined. And now the time to strike back is approaching. But we have to be careful, mija."

Coco gave a determined nod. "We'll use the utmost caution. Okay, let's focus on bringing Papá home first. One step at a time. No impulsiveness; we'll plan everything."

Imelda chuckled as she wiped another tear from her cheek. "Whatever happened last night, mija, you certainly have become much wiser for it."

Coco smiled. "A wise but silly man taught me the importance of putting family first. That living family takes priority in one's life, and that's how one truly honors the dead."

"Then let us honor your papá," Imelda said, wrapping an arm around Coco.

The two of them sat there for hours, going over the doodles and letters, while Imelda told Coco story after story of meeting Héctor, falling in love and building a family together.

* * *

 **AN:** Shout out to one of the most beautiful Doctor Who quotes from best companion. And also to Eleven for summarizing life's good and bad events and memories. Also, I didn't cry while writing Héctor's torture scenes or even his death. But I cried while writing Imelda's reveal of the letters. That's what tends to get to me; not so much watching a character endure pain, but watching their loved ones' reactions to their pain or their triumph. Whenever I watch this movie, it's always Elena's reaction to Coco gaining lucidity that causes me to tear up. It's more the human impact rather than the event itself that pulls at my heartstrings.

The story is basically over at this point. The final chapter will be the epilogue, which is mostly exposition. Thanks for taking this ride with me! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

 _75 years later..._

"And this one is Tia Victória, that's Papá Júlio, and there's Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe."

Elena nodded her approval as her grandson pointed out each photo on the ofrenda. "Muy bien, mijo. Now, why do we put their pictures up?"

Miguel opened his mouth to answer, but his cousin Rosa beat him to it. "To show them we remember them, so that they live on even in death, and to make it possible for their spirits to cross over and visit us every Dia de los Muertos."

"Excellent!" Elena beamed, clapping her hands together. She then turned her attention to the toddlers tugging at each of Rosa's hands. "Now, Benjamín, Manuel, were you paying attention?"

One twin had his fist in his mouth as he stood mesmerized by the flickering candles on the ofrenda. The other shuffled back and forth, answering for both of them: "No."

"Ay!" Elena cried in exasperation, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Miguel laughed. "They're only two, Abuelita. They'll learn all this eventually."

Elena chuckled. "Not if they're anything like their cousin," she said. "How hard it was to get you to sit quietly long enough to learn our family history! And the moment any music or singing was heard, you gave all your attention to that instead."

"He listened real well to the part about Papá Héctor and the murder mystery," Rosa said teasingly.

Miguel rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore her. "Maybe we should put all our family members into a song that's easy for little kids to learn," he suggested.

"Oh," a voice called from behind them. "I like that idea."

Miguel turned and gave his great-grandmother an appreciative smile. Coco smiled back through all her wrinkles, settled in her wicker wheelchair near the ofrenda, her preferred place to be on Dia de los Muertos. She had a special connection with Miguel. While his papá Enrique looked the most like her own father out of all her descendants, it was Miguel whom she believed had truly inherited Héctor's spirit.

"Abuelita, I've been meaning to ask something," Rosa said.

"What is it, mija?" Elena replied.

"All these paintings...are they all Tia Victória's?" she gestured to the many oil paintings hanging around the ofrenda. Most of them depicted Héctor, but several showed various other family members as well. The most prominent of the portraits hung above an old sepia-toned photo of baby Coco and her parents, who held a place of honor on the ofrenda. The painting showed an older woman with a silver streak in her hair being lifted joyously into the air by a significantly younger man in a charro suit. The couple was skillfully painted to be true to life, and anyone could see plainly that they were the same people that were in the old photo at the top of the ofrenda.

Elena nodded, her eyes misting. "Si. She painted a new portrait of your Papá Héctor to go on the ofrenda every year until Mamá Imelda died."

"That last one is called 'Reunion,'" Coco added. "Vicita never wanted to paint anything to be sold, but people loved her work anyway, and now she's quite well known in Mexico." A lump rose in her throat as she thought of her daughter, remembering clearly the bespectacled, determined face of a child who would not allow her abuelo to be forgotten. Victória had preceded her in death, sometime after the birth of Elena's oldest boy, Berto. There was no pain like the loss of a child, and Coco was looking forward to her approaching reunion with her daughter almost more than she was the reunion with her parents and husband.

"But Papá Héctor has a photo," Miguel said. "Why would Tia Victória need to paint a picture of him?"

"Your Mamá Coco can explain that better than I can," Elena confessed.

The children turned to Coco. She settled back, a nostalgic smile gracing her features. "Victória wanted to draw Papá a picture for the ofrenda, because the man who attacked our family also tore our photo, and kept Papá's part of the picture so that we couldn't put it up on the ofrenda."

"Ernesto de la Cruz," Miguel said, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a growl. His entire 12 years in this world had been spent listening to and memorizing the tragic tale of his great-great-grandpa and the villainous musician who had kidnapped and murdered him, then gone on to make himself famous off of stolen songs and a stolen guitar. De la Cruz had long since fallen out of public favor, but he was still the main antagonist in Mexico's favorite murder story.

Coco nodded, scowling for a moment. "After I went to Mexico City and found Papá's body, and we had it examined, we were finally able to prove that he had not just disappeared all on his own. Mamá had collected evidence against de la Cruz for years, and I knew where he was hiding the picture of Papá."

 _Because of your trip to meet your papá in the Land of the Dead,_ Miguel thought. He had begged Mamá Coco years ago to tell him the truth about how she brought justice for Héctor, and had believed every word of her story. But she in turn had sworn him to secrecy. No one else in the family would believe her; they'd all say she was becoming senile.

"When we convinced the people keeping Papá's songbook to let us look through it, we found the picture. Even after we put it on the ofrenda, Victória decided to draw or paint Papá a picture every year anyway. It became an annual tradition for us to look forward to our Vicita's newest artwork.

"After the case was all wrapped up, we got everything de la Cruz had owned or stolen. Especially Papá's guitar." She smiled at Miguel. "The one Miguel keeps wishing the historians and his abuelita would let him play."

Miguel blushed. He'd been caught numerous times gazing longingly at the white skull guitar, displayed on a wall in the front of the shop, surrounded by framed letters from his Papá Héctor. What must it be like to play Mexico's most famous guitar?

"But de la Cruz was really rich," Rosa said. "If we got all his money, where did it all go?"

"Why, into the zapateria, of course!" Elena said, sweeping her hand around in a grand gesture.

"Well, most of it went to charity," Coco said. "Some was used to build our family's shrine in the graveyard. Some went to improve the plaza. And we kept some to help our own business and family."

Miguel nodded, thinking about the plaza, his favorite place to go and listen to or practice music. He had heard there used to be a statue of de la Cruz there, but it had been melted down after his fall from glory, and the metal had gone to help the war effort during World War II. In recent decades, a new statue had taken its place; this one depicting a smiling musician wearing a charro suit and playing a guitar, while children danced at his feet. The musician had a very plain face, but it was full of joy. He was an everyman; a tribute to the unifying power of music that comes from the heart.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed.

"Dia de los Muertos has begun!" Elena cried excitedly. She gestured to the children. "Come, mijos, come come! We still have some things to prepare! Benny, Manny, you must help your Tia Luisa with the marigold path. Make it nice and straight, just like Mamá Imelda likes it."

As Elena ushered the children out of the room, Coco settled in to wait for her late family's arrival. Miguel popped back in for a moment and came up to Coco, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy Dia de los Muertos, Mamá Coco," he chirped.

Coco smiled. "You too, mijo. Now, go help your abuelita. Your ancestors will be here anytime. I'll see you when it's time for your performance."

Miguel nodded. "It'll be great this year! Abel and Rosa and I have all been practicing really hard. They're almost as good as me!"

Coco simply chuckled as Miguel dashed out of the room, waving as he went. She sighed as she turned her attention to the ofrenda. She was content to wait as long as necessary for the usual sign that her family had arrived to celebrate with them.

* * *

On the other side of the veil, seven Riveras waited eagerly in line at the border, conversing among themselves. Every once in a while, Imelda would have to fend a group of curious onlookers off with her boot, clued into the fact that they might soon make themselves a nuisance by their hushed discussion regarding whether or not that was _the_ Héctor Rivera. Not that he was all that inconspicuous. He was dressed in a burgundy charro suit, sans the sombrero, and slung across his back was the iconic white skull guitar.

Fortunately, most of the dead at the Santa Cecilia gate knew enough of the Riveras to leave them in peace. Several knew each family member by name, having been neighbors in life. Elena's in-laws waved cheerfully to the family as they passed through the checkpoint and made their way to the marigold bridge, wishing them a happy holiday. Júlio and Rosita returned the greeting with equal enthusiasm.

"I've always liked them," Júlio said with a smile.

"Next!" the clerk called, bidding Héctor and Imelda to step forward. A camera scanned their faces, and a familiar 'ding' was heard. "Your photos are on your family's ofrenda," the clerk said with a bright smile. "Enjoy your visit!"

As he approached the marigold bridge, Héctor began to shiver and giggle with excitement. He wished he had skin to pinch himself to make sure this was real. Beside him, Imelda shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Every year," she muttered. "You're worse than a child on Navidad. This is your 75th visit, dear, not your first."

"I know! That makes this a milestone! Three quarters of a century being able to cross the bridge, thanks to our Coco." He cast a glance over his shoulder and called, "And also thanks to our wonderfully talented Vicita!"

Victória followed her father and tia out of the gate. She rolled her eyes, and Héctor was sure she would've blushed if she could. "Abuelo, we agreed that you wouldn't call me that in public!" she complained.

Héctor snickered at her embarrassment, especially since it took the attention from nearby gossips off of him and planted it firmly on his fairly well-known granddaughter. Now it was her turn to fend off unwanted attention—not that she had ever had any difficulty with that. She was like her grandmother in almost every way. However, Héctor liked to take full credit for gifting her her artistic abilities. Never mind the fact that he himself never graduated past the doodles that illustrated many of his songs. He blamed that on his tragically early death.

"Oye, are you slowpokes coming?" Felipe called from well ahead of them on the bridge.

"Or do we have to eat all of your offerings, as well as our own?" Oscar added, his tone teasing.

"Keep your socks on, cuñados!" Héctor called with a laugh. He linked arms with Imelda as the other three Riveras caught up, and together, they all crossed the bridge.

Above them, an enormous green jaguar soared on powerful wings toward the barrier between the worlds. She came in for a landing as she crossed it, transforming back into the little silver tabby she'd been in life. She waited there for her family to cross. As they arrived, each passing through the barrier and gaining an ethereal, translucent glow, Pepita wound around their legs, stopping to gaze up at her Imelda. The matriarch reached down to give Pepita a scratch under the chin.

"Good girl," she praised.

Pepita trotted ahead of the family, guiding them down the marigold path toward the zapateria, past the beautiful open-air Rivera shrine that formed the centerpiece of the graveyard, and barely noticing the old, graffiti-covered mausoleum that had fallen into disrepair over the past seven decades. As they approached the hacienda, they could hear the sounds of a violin, accordion and guitar inside the compound. Miguel's voice rang out, accompanied on occasion by other members of his family. He was playing his guitar and singing a new song, and Pepita quite liked it. She didn't understand a word of it, but it made her family happy, and there were none of those annoying gritos. Those she could do without.

She could also do without the hairless black dog that kept running in between everybody, dead and alive, trying to steal treats. But she would tolerate him for the sake of Miguel. She had been around long enough to know an alebrije when she saw one in the living world. The Xolo—Dante, Miguel had called him—didn't know it yet, being just a dumb dog who had no idea of the significance of his ability to see dead people, but he had a special role to play in the life and eventual (though hopefully far off) death of a boy who was very much like his Papá Héctor.

Between songs, her dead humans fussed over the living ones, commenting on how big the twin toddlers were getting (Oscar and Felipe hoped the boys would grow up to be inventors), and squealing in delight over Luisa's swollen belly, indicating a new Rivera was on the way. Pepita ignored them, following one of the humans as she pushed Coco's wheelchair to the ofrenda room. The cat glanced back every now and again, making sure that one human in particular was following.

Elena parked the wheelchair next to the ofrenda and adjusted her mamá's shawl. "Warm now, Mamá?" she asked.

"Si, much better. Thank you, mija. I'll be ready to come back out in...oh, 20 minutes or so."

Elena nodded and left her mother to enjoy her time to herself.

Once Elena was gone, Pepita invited herself onto Coco's lap. She curled up and purred, pushing her head against Coco's wrinkled hand. Coco obliged, stroking the cat's soft fur.

"Hello, Pepita," she cooed. "How's my favorite alebrije this evening?"

Pepita glanced up, not at Coco, but at Héctor, who had entered the room, taken a chicken leg off the ofrenda, and sat down cross-legged next to Coco's chair. He set the chicken down and began to softly play his guitar. He didn't sing tonight, like he usually did, but the gentle notes of "Remember Me" filled the room, heard only through the vibrating inner ear bones of the dead, and by any alebrijes present.

Coco may not have heard the music, but she did seem to sense his presence. Pepita appearing in the compound had been her signal that her deceased family had arrived, and as was her annual tradition, she'd asked to be wheeled into the ofrenda room to spend some time talking to them. Her papá always made a point to join her, and she instinctively knew it.

"This is my last Dia de los Muertos on this side, I think," she said. Then she chuckled. "But next year won't be my first on the other side."

Héctor smiled. He recalled the adventure of 75 years ago. There were parts of it he'd rather forget, but overall, it had been an amazing experience that, to be perfectly honest, he wouldn't have traded for anything else in the world of the dead.

"Well, I can't say I'm not looking forward to it, mija," he said. "And you'll be proud of me; I fulfilled all my promises, right down to returning that sweater. All my near-forgotten familia are getting along just fine in de la Cruz's old house. So nice of him to 'donate' it to them after the police got him out from under that bell and hauled him off to prison. I now make sure the well-remembered don't treat the near-forgotten with any less dignity than they do each other."

"I'm so tired, Papá," Coco went on. "I dearly love my living family, and I have much to boast about, having lived long enough to see at least one of my great-grandchildren become a man. And my Miguelito...he's so much like you, Papá. You should be proud."

He was. So very proud. He could see some of his traits in all of his descendants, but Miguel had inherited a double portion of Héctor's quirks, it seemed. Not to mention the boy's incredible musical talent, which Héctor was convinced well surpassed his own.

Coco continued, "As blessed as I am in life, I'm ready to leave it. I think...I may try to celebrate 100 in a few months. Just to be able to say I did. But after that, I'm coming home, Papá. To you and Mamá, to my Júlio, and to my Vicita." A tear trickled down her cheek, guided by one of the many creases in her skin. "I think Elena knows. We haven't discussed it, but she seems to know I'm ready to leave this world. She'll be alright. She has the family."

"And we have a room all ready for you, mija," Imelda said, joining them and sitting beside Héctor as he played.

Coco laid her head back and closed her eyes. "Sing for me, Papá. Sing, and I'll join in."

Not one to disappoint his baby girl, Héctor gave voice to the lyrics of their shared lullaby. As he sang, Coco focused on the peaceful presence around her. As she relaxed, she thought she could hear the faintest sound of an acoustic guitar—and not Miguel's. No, this sound was coming from somewhere beside her, accompanied by a familiar voice. At just the right moment, Coco joined the refrain, soaking in the love infused into each note.

"Remember me..."

* * *

The end.

 **AN:** There. I said it. After 15 chapters, the longest fic I've ever written or finished, I finally get to say "the end." Thank you all for joining me on this adventure, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Your reviews kept me going. I wouldn't have stuck with it if it weren't for you.


End file.
